thirty three

What knowledge treasured but known too soon
here leaves me naked of that celestial dream;
On any day or night oft times my eyes have seen
some passer-by transformed to you sweet muse;
As last doves fleeing with that last tide of day
love now seems to raise your spectre to my sleep;
Here I find myself left fading away
in company of memory that sunk too deep;
Here this blackest tempest of darkest night
my canvas upon which projects your perfect light.

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