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Gardens of lovers and flowers,
The round world swinging
In the light of the sun :
All broken, undone,
All down — under
Black surges of thunder . . .
Oh, billow on billow Oh, roar on roar, Over me wash The seas of war . . .
As I lie roofed in, screened in, From the pattering rain, The summer rain — As I lie Snug and dry, And hear the birds complain.
— Harriet Monroe.
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