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death poetry

sweet splendor
at midnight
it was the autumn of the year
for truth, for love
beautiful
gone are the three, those sisters rare
i have to say good-night
melancholy, blue it was
i love to steal awhile away
thou unrelenting past
that strange companion came on shuffling feet
see, from this counterfeit of him
while i stood listening, discreetly dumb

 



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