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lyric poem

the pale day drowses on the western steep
within my hand i hold
not from the whole wide world
gaily through the fields we danced
there are three ways in which men take
i've won the race
see i give myself to you
i have seen the proudest stars
i have heard that a certain princess
night is dark, and the winter winds
my soul goes clad in gorgeous things
stuff of the moon
why then, must we see?

 



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