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sympathy poem

but alas, just dreams
above them all, looking down
it is true that you say the gods are more use to you than fairies
before the solemn bronze saint
the fragrance came
along a river-side
she has a clear, wind-sheltered loveliness
when freedom from her mountain height
long has the summer sunlight shone
my sorrow, when she's here with me
little park that i pass through

 



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