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wheel me down by the meadow
calm as that second summer
i heard the wind all day
when the veil from the eyes is lifted
against the green flame of the hawthorn-tree
they may talk of love in a cottage
night was black and drear
their beautiful hair
my soul is a dark ploughed field
doubtless i remember still
the body may confine
hang no wreath
beneath my window in a city street
in an old chamber softly lit

 



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