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spanish poem

there is a city, builded by no hand
my soul is a dark ploughed field
now while my lips are living
eighty years have passed, and more
desolate and lone
the body may confine
i heard the wind all day
leave the lovely words unsaid
i had a dream and i awoke with it
now for a brisk and cheerful fight
therefore i may not
up from the meadows rich with corn
daughters of time

 



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