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child poetry

the meadow was creeping
often i think of the beautiful town
day is done
happiness
friend, whose smile has come to be
sweet with fern and rose
from floor to ceiling
winged shadows sweeping by
the little pitiful, worn, laughing faces
when, full of warm and eager love
it is true that you say the gods are more use to you than fairies
i am singing to you
it was many and many a year ago

 



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