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famous poetry

short and sweet, and we've come to the end of it
above them all, looking down
gone are the three, those sisters rare
beneath the warrior's helm
i fill this cup
dear wife
my soul goes clad in gorgeous things
she might have known it in the earlier spring
o fair and stately maid, whose eyes
with joy and wonder
lady, your heart has turned to dust
i've won the race

 



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