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Poem by Elinor Wylie
I shall die hidden in a hut In the middle of an alder wood, With the back door blind and bolted shut, And the front door locked for good. I shall lie folded like a saint, Lapped in a scented linen sheet, On a bedstead striped with bright-blue paint, Narrow and cold and neat. The midnight will be glassy black Behind the panes, with wind about To set his mouth against a crack And blow the candle out.
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