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thank you poem

it is true that you say the gods are more use to you than fairies
soft as the bed in the earth
two rows of cabbages
i love the old melodious lays
stuff of the moon
tell me
against the green flame of the hawthorn-tree
do you hear the rain?
with her hair flaying wildly
she limps with halting painful pace
full of tears
melancholy days have come
why do

 



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