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acrostic poem

mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam
world that changes under my hand
i love the old melodious lays
with the sunset
the endless, foolish merriment of stars
three days i heard them grieve when i lay dead
i saw the archangels in my apple-tree last night
there is a city, builded by no hand
one sweetly solemn thought
the pale day drowses on the western steep
tell me less or tell me more

 



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