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fall poem

he came and took me by the hand
i wonder where you live
one by one, like leaves from a tree
my son is dead and i am going blind
mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam
could we but know
one sweetly solemn thought
a bird sang
there is a country full of wine
eighty years have passed, and more
against the green flame of the hawthorn-tree
where shall i find you
i gazed upon the glorious sky

 



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