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as a white candle
i gazed upon the glorious sky
a look is but a ray
the swan existing
i make my shroud, but no one knows
i shake my hair in the wind of morning
all those treasures that lie
stern cold man
there was never a sound beside the wood but one
burly, dozing humble-bee
if i were very sure
therefore i may not
they may talk of love in a cottage

 



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