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Alma Mater

 He knocked, and I beheld him at the door-- 
A vision for the gods to verify.
"What battered ancient is this," thought I, "And when, if ever, did we meet before?" But ask him as I might, I got no more For answer than a moaning and a cry: Too late to parley, but in time to die, He staggered, and lay ahapeless on the floor.
When had I known him? And what brought him here? Love, warning, malediction, fear? Surely I never thwarted such as he?-- Again, what soiled obscurity was this: Out of what scum, and up from what abyss, Had they arrived--these rags of memory.

Poem by Edwin Arlington Robinson
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