yew quotes

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Strew on her roses, roses,
And never a spray of yew!
In quiet she reposes;
Ah, would that I did too!
Lay a garland on my hearse,
Of the dismal yew;
Maidens, willow branches bear;
Say I died true.
My silks and fine array,
My smiles and languish'd air,
...
Let the palings of her bed
Be quince and box-wood overlaid
...
Below me trees unnumbered rise,
Beautiful in various dyes:
...
He gathers all the parish there;
Points out the place of either yew,
...
Reptilian green the wrinkled throat,
Green as a bough of yew the beard;
He bent his head, and so I smote;
The moon is door. It is a face in its own right,
White as a knuckle and terribly upset.
...
The moon is my mother. She is not sweet like Mary.
Her blue garments unloose small bats and owls.
The trees of the mind are black.
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