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gothic poetry

god
in halls of sleep you wandered by
o fair and stately maid, whose eyes
this ancient silver bowl of mine
though love repine, and reason chafe
i love the old melodious lays
why do
sleep sweetly in your humble graves
often i think of the beautiful town
so fallen
over the river, on the hill
when the hours of day are numbered
a sky that has never known sun, moon or stars

 



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