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The End of Love

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Written by Kathleen Raine

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 Now he is dead
How should I know
My true love's arms
From wind and snow?

No man I meet
In field or house
Though in the street
A hundred pass.
The hurrying dust Has never a face, No longer human In man or woman.
Now he is gone Why should I mourn My true love more than mud, than mud or stone?


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