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death poetry

high-born race
but alas, just dreams
out of the window a sea of green trees
since, if you stood by my side today
out of me unworthy and unknown
afraid no more, i say
doubtless i remember still
all within and all without me
which i wish to remark
over the river, on the hill
the darkness
there are three ways in which men take
stay no more
she has a clear, wind-sheltered loveliness

 



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