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fall poetry

in the dark and peace of my final bed
in may
she was a beauty in the days
and with the humming bird
tell me less or tell me more
here lies a most beautiful lady
there is a city, builded by no hand
my mother twines me roses wet with dew
when, full of warm and eager love
very well, you liberals
melancholy, blue it was
out of me unworthy and unknown

 



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