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sad death poem

gegen die grüne Flamme des Weißdorn-Baums
denken Sie, mein Junge, wenn ich meine Arme um Sie setze
unter dusky Lorbeerblatt
Moonlight tief und zart
wie Adler auf hoher Höhe
gerade jetzt
ich sehe einen Stern heute abend
ein Vogel sang
zu, was eine Frau sie geliebt vergleicht
als Meer-Winde unsere Solitudes durchbohrten

 



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