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INVITATION, by                    
First Line: Lady, forsake the torrid coastal marshes
Last Line: Slipped from my side and turned away her face.


Lady, forsake the torrid coastal marshes,
The festering faces and the stagnant talk,
For there are venomous serpents in the rushes
With beady eyes that eye you where you walk;
And I will show you trees at moon-set striking
The attitudes my grim despair distils,
And I will serve you coffee to your liking
When morning breaks with singing in the hills.
I have not felt the wind of beauty blowing
Sweet from your hands upon me in this place;
I do not even know your brightest going
Through alien streets enamoured of your grace.
I only know that peace beyond my knowing
Slipped from my side and turned away her face.





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