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poems

as a naked man i go
high-born race
why so sad my lovely one?
beneath the warrior's helm
let a joy keep you
to clothe the fiery thought
this ancient silver bowl of mine
tell me less or tell me more
she must go back, she said
the snow whispers about me
how like the stars are these white, nameless faces
that year
music i heard with you was more than music
the mountains they are silent folk

 



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