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Allen Tate - More Sonnets At Christmas IAllen Tate - More Sonnets At Christmas I
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To Denis Devlin Again the native hour lets down the locks Uncombed and black, but gray the bobbing beard; Ten years ago His eyes, fierce shuttlecocks, Pierced the close net of what I failed: I feared The belly-cold, the grave-clout, that betrayed Me dithering in the drift of cordial seas; Ten years are time enough to be dismayed By mummy Christ, head crammed between his knees. Suppose I take an arrogant bomber, stroke By stroke, up to the frazzled sun to hear Sun-ghostlings whisper: Yes, the capital yoke- Remove it and there`s not a ghost to fear This crucial day, whose decapitate joke Languidly winds into the inner ear.
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