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In All the Dark Gardens I still see you in all the dark gardens Of the world; on the black roads; In the closed flowers, Whitely sleeping; In the curled leaves Being silvered by moonlight. Is that your shadow by A pale fence? Robed, silent, Deep against false brightness, Beckoning with those fair hands? Is it your dark form that waits In the shade of a grey tree? It is not- once again, I am mistaken; The shadow turns to dust at dawn. And the dark form fades, But in my hopeful remembrance, Where it will live as who I thought, at last, it was. I still see you in all the dark gardens Of the world. But no- It's better if you never come To meet me in my midnight thought. You, beautiful dream, reduced to bones! Shrouded in sadness, and flowers, and dirt. Yet still I seek you In each dark garden that I walk through, Wanting the impossible, afraid to speak, Lest what speaks back is your ghost. Perhaps we'll meet yet by the trailing roses, Under petals, on that last dark road. |
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