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blossoms of babies
there is a city, builded by no hand
the light withdrawn
fat black bucks in a wine-barrel room
often i think of the beautiful town
within my hand i hold
what spiteful chance steals unawares
if i should die, think only this of me
very well, you liberals
as evening falls
death's nobility again
when sea-winds pierced our solitudes
hang no wreath

 



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