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the poets tell
as a white candle
this is the song of youth
why so sad my lovely one?
which keeps
on and on
lo! 'tis a gala night
when i returned at sunset
i had a dream and i awoke with it
somewhere i read a strange, old, rusty tale
to come so soon to this imagined dark
now while my lips are living
since i have felt the sense of death

 



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