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the ancient songs
i saw you hunched and shivering on the stones
at dawn, he said
along the banks
i flung my soul to the air like a falcon flying
and breaketh bread no more
there are three ways in which men take
in their ragged regimentals
awful truths these be
the old songs
with the meek, brown eyes
often i think of the beautiful town
it tells of good old times
these hearts were woven of human joys and cares

 



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