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dark-eyed
all down the years
through the broad earth's aching breast
a thousand silent years ago
beautiful, tragical faces
one sweetly solemn thought
the smell of the rose so false, the thorns so true
often i think of the beautiful town
she was a beauty in the days
not from the whole wide world
to clothe the fiery thought
this ancient silver bowl of mine
our pleasant moments fly


 



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