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life poetry

the darkness
when freedom from her mountain height
all those treasures that lie
i saw him once before
i gazed upon the glorious sky
a storm is riding on the tide
daughter, thou art come to die
lo! 'tis a gala night
gone are the three, those sisters rare
white foam flower, red flame flower
are you alive?
be not angry with me
with the meek, brown eyes

 



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