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romantic poem

the agony of having too much power
muffled drum's sad roll has beat
i am the wind that wavers
the endless, foolish merriment of stars
glooms of the live-oaks
sleep sweetly in your humble graves
we break the glass whose sacred wine
there is no escape by the river
shines the last age, the next with hope is seen
the saddest of the year
i see all human wits
shadows lay along broadway

 



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