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sympathy poem

the old songs
i saw him once before
shines the last age, the next with hope is seen
we break the glass whose sacred wine
do i like it
o fair and stately maid, whose eyes
brief on a flying night
darkest, strangest mystery
i gazed upon the glorious sky
a storm is riding on the tide
beautiful
i am old and blind
melancholy days have come

 



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