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death poetry

over the river they beckon to me
god
the meadow was creeping
splendid and terrible your love
i saw the clouds among the hills
skies they were ashen and sober
in his guarded tent
those black eyes i once so praised
master of human destinies am i
my soul is a dark ploughed field
i am singing to you
the air is full of dawn and spring
long ago, in the young moonlight
the darkness steals the forms of all the queens

 



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