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sad poetry

two rows of cabbages
shines the last age, the next with hope is seen
be in me as the eternal moods
beneath the warrior's helm
sleep, gray brother of death
the shadows of the ships
i think it just splendid
she limps with halting painful pace
storm
long ago, in the young moonlight
i gazed upon the glorious sky
there were three in the meadow by the brook
i love my life, but not too well

 



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