mary douglas

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To Jean Redpath

and to my mother, Mary Adalyn Young-Douglas

'Fled is that music-: Do I wake or sleep? '
John Keats, Ode To A Nightingale

fled is the dream past dream on the clock of waking;
tulip-cupped the moon where the starry snows are flaking.
when will I awake in the rooms of before, not after.

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