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type of poetry

a storm is riding on the tide
let a joy keep you
sun and wind and beat of sea
the body may confine
with the sunset
i bid them all farewell
he speaks not well
my son is dead and i am going blind
mysterious night
though love repine, and reason chafe
often i think of the beautiful town
behold me, in my chiffon, gauze and tinsel
i have heard them in the night
look back with longing eyes and know that i will follow

 



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