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Portrait

 She has no need to fear the fall 
Of harvest from the laddered reach 
Of orchards, nor the tide gone ebbing 
 From the steep beach.
Nor hold to pain's effrontery Her body's bulwark, stern and savage, Nor be a glass, where to forsee Another's ravage.
What she has gathered, and what lost, She will not find to lose again.
She is possessed by time, who once Was loved by men.

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