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What Came to be Lost Because he kissed ambition on the lips, Decided virtue did not profit him Bore nothing actual on naked hips; He lunged for life in massive, empty ways. Because he shouted at the gentle days He made the sun his foe-companion night; Banished passion from his charted flight He can no longer linger in amaze. He has forgotten all he ever knew of ardor, and the thrill of parting pain the value of a docile drop of dew the tribute of a soft, capricious rain; of sticky silences, wet matted moss-- He lost the very knowledge of his loss. |
Additional Notes:
This is a sonnet
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