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death poem

beneath the warrior's helm
love has been sung a thousand ways
it was the autumn of the year
calm as that second summer
be in me as the eternal moods
grieve not for the invisible
stern cold man
along a river-side
one sweetly solemn thought
it is true that you say the gods are more use to you than fairies
of sun nor stars
do you remember
my soul is a dark ploughed field

 



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