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acrostic poem

fällt hier kein Licht
alle innen und alle ohne mich
geben Sie mich
ihr Gesicht ist angemessen und glatt und fein
hatten er und i aber getroffen
ich sehe allen menschlichen Esprit
könnten wir aber zu wissen
Sonne trat unten von seinem goldenen Throne
gestiegen von den Toten
es gibt eine Stadt, builded durch keine Hand
in Ihrem Flug

 



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