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Poem by Thomas MacDonagh
I gave my poems to a man, Who said that they were very great-- They showed just how my love began And ended, but too intimate To give to read to every one. I took my book and left him there, And went out where the sinking sun Was calling stars into the air. He thought that I had let them look Privily in behind the bars, Had sold my secret with a book-- I cursed him and I cursed the stars.
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