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funeral poem

earth travails
when freedom from her mountain height
when the veil from the eyes is lifted
i am in love with high far-seeing places
there was never a sound beside the wood but one
i shake my hair in the wind of morning
i made a vow once, one only
listen to the sounding sea
high-born race
if i should die, think only this of me
to what shall a woman liken her beloved
when i was broke in london

 



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