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famous poem

rising moon has hid the stars
sleep sweetly in your humble graves
i love the old melodious lays
the darkness rolls upward
o fair and stately maid, whose eyes
in halls of sleep you wandered by
one sweetly solemn thought
i can not tell you now
once this soft turf
up from the meadows rich with corn
perhaps
night is dark, and the winter winds
tell me

 



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