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i stand in the cold gray weather
see the tentative
beautiful, tragical faces
once this soft turf
i fill this cup
afraid no more, i say
there's one that i once loved so much
here lies a most beautiful lady
desolate and lone
i shake my hair in the wind of morning
since i have felt the sense of death
it tells of good old times
renew the vision of delight
death's nobility again

 



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