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Oftimes, I sit upon the strand
Of night, and talk with her about my bride -
Who be beyond yon see...
She saith to me, "Now ye can fly!"
White, diurnal butterfly
Flapped with wings and shied away...
Having left a spilled red wine
On the sky...
Next Part of Poem is Coming "Night II"
New Photo "Still Life with the Old Face"
https://t.co/ObTSavE218