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E.e. cummings - the hills
Work rating: Low

the hills
like poets put on
purple thought against
the

magnificent clamor of
day
tortured
in gold, which presently

crumpled
collapses
exhaling a red soul into the dark

so
duneyed master
enter
the sweet gates

of my heart and
take
the
rose,

which perfect
is
With killing hands
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