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retirement poem

when you come tonight
i saw you hunched and shivering on the stones
within this lowly grave a conqueror lies
perhaps it is no matter that you died
if i were very sure
the pale day drowses on the western steep
against the green flame of the hawthorn-tree
let a joy keep you
there were three in the meadow by the brook
the air is full of dawn and spring
the snow whispers about me
it is true that you say the gods are more use to you than fairies


 



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