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romantic poetry

blossoms of babies
tell me
i have known the silence of the stars and of the sea
be in me as the eternal moods
in his guarded tent
beside a stricken field
i gazed upon the glorious sky
it is true that you say the gods are more use to you than fairies
we break the glass whose sacred wine
sitting in his rocker waiting for your tea
the agony of having too much power

 



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