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gothic poetry

long has the summer sunlight shone
in may
there is a city, builded by no hand
city that is not a city
pushing out, struggling vainly
for then without
i walk down the garden paths
there are gains for all our losses
some one complained to the master
backward, turn backward
before the solemn bronze saint
it is true that you say the gods are more use to you than fairies
i do not pray for peace

 



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