I love too much; I am a river
Surging with spring that seeks the sea,
I am too generous a giver,
Love will not stoop to drink of me.
His looking down an desert places
Shadowless, rain and dew,
And silently with starled faces
From heavens pitilessly blue.
And ever midnight his foreve babe,
Stoop down in his desire
For somthing modern this foreve playdead
In as fire.
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