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very well, you liberals
in halls of sleep you wandered by
the sky
roses and gold
my sorrow, when she's here with me
daughter, thou art come to die
be patient, life, when love is at the gate
the light withdrawn
see i give myself to you
could we but know
in and of itself
hang no wreath
i am weary of being bitter and weary of being wise
we lay

 



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