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In this same room I have praised before Its, often warm, solutions. Pined remembrances Now ill here; Five days bed-loitering With ocean silence ringing ears And new years cold sun Gathering birds A large gull flew Through Venetian. Flew In frames and Out of view and Over roofs Will I get there? Will I pass this sickness of rooms? To where I can hide again For an hour or two In the corner of a dusky green, Our youth clamorously burnt , And keep old flames Quietly burning out the night |