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Slow Music with Diminished Chords At the thin end of summer, almost cool, With a gallant breeze in the treetops, I and my companions and the wine Wait for the dark, the flagstone terrace red Under the last low drenchings of the sun, As we speak about the excellence in evening air, In pine and sparrow, all that goes on only as itself With no grudge against the infinite, And about the difficult pleasures of the poem, And the complicated sleep that makes us feel Obsolete along our own arc, disposable, A small catastrophe among the mannequins. • • • 56 ...

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