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famous poem

storm
within this lowly grave a conqueror lies
i go my way complacently
still thirteen years
as it
softly now the light of day
there was never a sound beside the wood but one
the saddest of the year
she has a clear, wind-sheltered loveliness
there is a city, builded by no hand
up to her chamber window
he came and took me by the hand
she burst fierce wine

 



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