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wedding poem

three days i heard them grieve when i lay dead
there is a country full of wine
she must go back, she said
do you think, my boy, when i put my arms around you
doubtless i remember still
those black eyes i once so praised
old wine to drink
burly, dozing humble-bee
high-born race
along a river-side
why do
it tells of good old times
a mist was driving down

 



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