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Sonnet VIII

        If your eyes    the moon,

        of a day full [errupted by tinued about 26

        er ]

        of a day full of clay, and work, and fire,

        if even    move in agile grace like the air,

        if you    an amber week,

        not t

        he vines;

        if you    t bread t moon

        kneads, sprinkling its flour across the sky,

        o, I could not love you so!

        But w is --

        sand, time, tree of the rain,

        everyt I    be alive:

        moving I    see it all:

        in your life I see everyt lives.
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