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sad love poem

she burst fierce wine
we lay
a storm is riding on the tide
it is true that you say the gods are more use to you than fairies
since i have felt the sense of death
sing again the song you sung
there were three in the meadow by the brook
i love my hour of wind and light
the shadows of the ships
had he and i but met
often is it not so?
burly, dozing humble-bee
up to her chamber window
stay no more

 



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