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wedding poem

mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam
storm
once this soft turf
a mile behind
i expect you
the agony of having too much power
simplicity
she limps with halting painful pace
now for a brisk and cheerful fight
with joy and wonder
three days i heard them grieve when i lay dead
o fair and stately maid, whose eyes
among the mountains i wandered

 



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