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love poems

as it
i can not tell you now
rocked in the cradle of the deep
risen from the dead
hang no wreath
it tells of good old times
it was the autumn of the year
rose and amber was the sunset on the river
there are three ways in which men take
this ancient silver bowl of mine
it was many and many a year ago
a mist was driving down
a very remarkable history this is

 



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