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famous poem

the endless, foolish merriment of stars
all quiet along the potomac
day is done
i expect you
i fill this cup
do you think, my boy, when i put my arms around you
wheel me down by the meadow
i shake my hair in the wind of morning
i am weary of being bitter and weary of being wise
hang no wreath
as evening falls
just now
the agony of having too much power

 



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