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Poem

15

The Guest is gold and crimson—
An Opal guest and gray—
Of Ermine is his doublet—
His Capuchin gay—

He reaches town at nightfall—
He stops at every door—
Who looks for him at morning
I pray him too—explore
The Lark’s pure territory—
Or the Lapwing’s shore!

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The grave my little cottage is
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The Hallowing Of Pain