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romantic poetry

to clothe the fiery thought
have we no shame?
i walk down the garden paths
behold me, in my chiffon, gauze and tinsel
perhaps
some of the hurts you have cured
the air is full of dawn and spring
give me
my son is dead and i am going blind
in halls of sleep you wandered by
death's nobility again
i saw the clouds among the hills

 



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