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writing poetry

beautiful, tragical faces
i made a vow once, one only
noises that strive to tear
there was a strangeness on your lips
had he and i but met
a poet, having taken the bridle off his tongue
love me at last, or if you will not
i bid them all farewell
up from the meadows rich with corn
within this lowly grave a conqueror lies
lived by the river-side
why so sad my lovely one?

 



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