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fall poetry

they may talk of love in a cottage
her face is fair and smooth and fine
in an old chamber softly lit
if i should die, think only this of me
i loved a woman
little park that i pass through
there are three ways in which men take
the poets tell
i said, i have shut my heart
there were three in the meadow by the brook
the long resounding marble corridors
be in me as the eternal moods
braided and woven
earth travails

 



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