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sad death poem

night was black and drear
there was never a sound beside the wood but one
little park that i pass through
love me at last, or if you will not
sadly speaking
in the sphere
let me move slowly through the street
when freedom from her mountain height
suddenly, out of dark and leafy ways
just as my fingers on these keys
the swan existing
at midnight
in his guarded tent
i can not tell you now

 



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