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sad poetry

what was it the engines said
there was never a sound beside the wood but one
my soul is a dark ploughed field
i had a dream and i awoke with it
of sun nor stars
there is a city, builded by no hand
the long resounding marble corridors
under a spreading chestnut tree
i shake my hair in the wind of morning
i can not tell you now
do not grieve that it is over
she burst fierce wine
the endless, foolish merriment of stars

 



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