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death poem

a look is but a ray
which keeps
when i returned at sunset
when sea-winds pierced our solitudes
i've won the race
all quiet along the potomac
there is a city, builded by no hand
among the mountains i wandered
softly weeping
soft as the bed in the earth
into the silent land
now for a brisk and cheerful fight
some one complained to the master

 



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