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suicide poetry

mysterious night
she limps with halting painful pace
in his guarded tent
the meadow was creeping
he's gone
beneath the warrior's helm
when i was broke in london
there is a city, builded by no hand
the air is full of dawn and spring
and breaketh bread no more
melancholy, blue it was
the snow whispers about me
i stood by the open casement
i bid them all farewell

 



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