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last night the full moon laid a cloth of white
the agony of having too much power
i flung my soul to the air like a falcon flying
there is a city, builded by no hand
i sometimes wonder if it's really true
i despise my friends more than you
i stood
there was a time in former years
her face is fair and smooth and fine
i said
why then, must we see?
stuff of the moon
up from the south at break of day
sweet with fern and rose

 



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