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desolate and lone
the light withdrawn
and so it goes
but alas, just dreams
as a white candle
the rain was over, and the brilliant air
once this soft turf
my sorrow, when she's here with me
i am the wind that wavers
shades of night were falling fast
there is no flock, however watched and tended
awful truths these be
o fair and stately maid, whose eyes
there were three in the meadow by the brook

 



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