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life poem

skies they were ashen and sober
out of the sparkling sea
mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam
i am singing to you
while i stood listening, discreetly dumb
moonlight deep and tender
up from the meadows rich with corn
the old west, the old time
sleep, gray brother of death
daughter, thou art come to die
why then, must we see?
there is a city, builded by no hand

 



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