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it was many and many a year ago
master of human destinies am i
why then, must we see?
a poet, having taken the bridle off his tongue
give me
when night drifts along the streets of the city
i do not pray for peace
for i was a gaunt, grave councillor
weak-winged is song
and how could you dream of meeting
they threw a stone, you threw a stone
do i like it

 



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