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like eagles on up high
gaily through the fields we danced
there are three ways in which men take
green afternoon serene and bright
were it not for that singular smell
one sweetly solemn thought
full of tears
is there anybody there
above them all, looking down
in an old chamber softly lit
have we no shame?
what spiteful chance steals unawares
sweet splendor
three days i heard them grieve when i lay dead

 



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