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CLIMBING SWEET-PEA
Always when morning comes I look Across the space of grass and dewFor that peaked roof, that small red door, That is my best beloved view;Always I yearn to ease my frightLest you were blown to God last night
Upon the mounting wings of flowers! Sweet-pea all ivory and foamAnd mauve and pink that cluster close Round the foundations of your home—They are to me such pulsing things,So ready to be turned to wings.
