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urdu poetry

shines the last age, the next with hope is seen
my soul goes clad in gorgeous things
give me
there were three in the meadow by the brook
the darkness steals the forms of all the queens
i've won the race
though love repine, and reason chafe
i saw god. do you doubt it?
when night drifts along the streets of the city
risen from the dead
therefore i may not

 



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