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gothic poetry

the fragrance came
splendid and terrible your love
three years ago today
what do i owe to you
my mother twines me roses wet with dew
long ago, in the young moonlight
musing, between the sunset and the dark
i've won the race
there is a city, builded by no hand
i love the old melodious lays
night is dark, and the winter winds
what was it the engines said
if i should die, think only this of me

 



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