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sister poem

our pleasant moments fly
a poet, having taken the bridle off his tongue
he came and took me by the hand
days endeared to every muse
now for a brisk and cheerful fight
the darkness steals the forms of all the queens
there were three in the meadow by the brook
night is dark, and the winter winds
softly now the light of day
i do not pray for peace
my true love from her pillow rose
a look is but a ray

 



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