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life poem

if i should die, think only this of me
up and down he goes
mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam
there is a country full of wine
the endless, foolish merriment of stars
very well, you liberals
a gleam of gold in gloom and gray
this is the song of youth
mysterious night
the child who threw away leaf after leaf
i am weary of being bitter and weary of being wise
i go my way complacently

 



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