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angel poem

a very remarkable history this is
if the red slayer think he slays
shines the last age, the next with hope is seen
with her hair flaying wildly
when, full of warm and eager love
why so sad my lovely one?
how wild, how witch-like weird that life should be
i am weary of being bitter and weary of being wise
within my hand i hold
death's nobility again
i am in love with high far-seeing places
listen
when i go back to earth

 



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