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sun stepped down from his golden throne
perhaps it is no matter that you died
you say you love me
i saw the archangels in my apple-tree last night
little gate was reached at last
shades of night were falling fast
which i wish to remark
there is a country full of wine
a poet, having taken the bridle off his tongue
there were three in the meadow by the brook
no prey am i of poor thoughts
i saw him once before
and how could you dream of meeting

 



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