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there is a city, builded by no hand
like eagles on up high
when the hours of day are numbered
the child who threw away leaf after leaf
let us express our baser passions
up and down he goes
had he and i but met
there are gains for all our losses
how wild, how witch-like weird that life should be
it was the autumn of the year
as i lie roofed in, screened in

 



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