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nature poem

against the green flame of the hawthorn-tree
when freedom from her mountain height
since i have felt the sense of death
why then, must we see?
they in the darkness gather and ask
when a deed is done for freedom
so fallen
just as my fingers on these keys
the light withdrawn
moonlight deep and tender
a thousand silent years ago
the hypocritic days
i saw the clouds among the hills
do you hear the rain?

 



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