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fall poem

here lies a most beautiful lady
under the harvest moon
it was many and many a year ago
they may talk of love in a cottage
never in all my life
last night the full moon laid a cloth of white
is there anybody there
who will be naming the wind
though i am little as all little things
in the sphere
the long resounding marble corridors
the ships are lying in the bay
there is a city, builded by no hand
under dusky laurel leaf

 



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