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1886–1950

IX

John Gould Fletcher

The houses of the city no longer hum and play: They lie like careless drowsy giants, dumb, estranged. One presses to his breast his toy, a lighted pane: One stirs uneasily: one is cold in death.

And the late moon, fearfully peering over an immense shoulder, Sees, in the shadow below, the unpeopled hush of a street.

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IX · John Gould Fletcher · Poetry Cove