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spanish poem

gone are the three, those sisters rare
have you heard
i saw you hunched and shivering on the stones
do the boys and girls still go
there was a time in former years
some one complained to the master
in an old chamber softly lit
i am weary of being bitter and weary of being wise
i am the wind that wavers
i love the old melodious lays
beside a stricken field
out of me unworthy and unknown
i have known the silence of the stars and of the sea

 



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