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by Georgia Douglas Johnson

From Standard Ebooks · standardebooks/georgia-douglas-johnson_poetry

Now, Like the pines intoning Though some solitary gloom, My errant throughts go pattering About love’s ancient tomb, And though no breath of incense rare Lies round the shattered cup, A banquet weird, the fragments Where the ghost of love May sup.

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This is a source transcription from Standard Ebooks, published in Past Poetry’s public-domain archive without line-by-line editorial notes. Public-domain source edition. Availability can vary by territory.

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