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■ The oak
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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2006-02-11 | | Submited by Valeria Pintea
I cannot live with You
It would be Life And Life is over there Behind the Shelf The Sexton keeps the Key to Putting up Our Life-His Porcelain Like a Cup Discarded of the Housewife Quaint, or Broke A newer Sevres pleases Old Ones crack I could not die with You For One must wait To shut the Other's Gaze down You could not And I, could I stand by And see You freeze Without my Right of Frost Death's privilege? Nor could I rise with You Because Your Face Would put out Jesus' That New Grace Glow plain and foreign On my homesick Eye- Except that You than He Shone closer by They'd judge Us. How For You served Heaven; You know, Or sought to I could not Because You saturated Sight And I had no more Eyes For sordid excellence As Paradise And were You lost, I would be Though My Name Rang loudest On the Heavenly fame And were You saved And I condemned to be Where You were not- That self were Hell to Me So We must meet apart You there, I here With just the Door ajar That Oceans are and Prayer And that White Sustenance Despair
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