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romantic poetry

be not angry with me
as i lie roofed in, screened in
mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam
over the river they beckon to me
in mournful numbers
see, they return
shades of night were falling fast
stern cold man
i am the wind that wavers
night is dark, and the winter winds
still thirteen years
i am dying
there is an hour of peaceful rest

 



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