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in september
within this lowly grave a conqueror lies
i make my shroud, but no one knows
like him whose spirit in the blaze of noon
i have to say good-night
a mist was driving down
daughters of time
skies they were ashen and sober
melancholy days have come
renew the vision of delight
royal feast was done
he's gone
i am the wind that wavers

 



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