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Harold Hart Crane - Exile
Work rating: Low

My hands have not touched pleasure since your hands, —
No, — nor my lips freed laughter since `farewell`,
And with the day, distance again expands
Voiceless between us, as an uncoiled shell.

Yet, love endures, though starving and alone.
A dove`s wings clung about my heart each night
With surging gentleness, and the blue stone
Set in the tryst-ring has but worn more bright.
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