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Sara Teasdale - A Fantasy
Work rating: Medium

Her voice is like clear water 
That drips upon a stone 
In forests far and silent 
Where Quiet plays alone.

Her thoughts are like the lotus 
Abloom by sacred streams 
Beneath the temple arches 
Where Quiet sits and dreams.

Her kisses are the roses 
That glow while dusk is deep 
In Persian garden closes 
Where Quiet falls asleep.
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