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romantic poem

i stand in the cold gray weather
i flung my soul to the air like a falcon flying
somewhere i read a strange, old, rusty tale
eighty years have passed, and more
these hearts were woven of human joys and cares
there is a city, builded by no hand
desolate and lone
over the river they beckon to me
a thousand silent years ago
it was a tall young oysterman
the ships are lying in the bay
once this soft turf
and with the humming bird

 



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