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sad poetry

had he and i but met
there were three in the meadow by the brook
a mile behind
a very remarkable history this is
he came and took me by the hand
sad are they who know not love
under a spreading chestnut tree
were it not for that singular smell
the saddest of the year
i go my way complacently
i loved a woman
there is no flock, however watched and tended
the meadow was creeping
let a joy keep you

 



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