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fall poetry

ich muß sagen gute Nacht
unter dem Erntemond
in seinem vorsichtigen Zelt
den brennenden Gedanken kleiden
Nacht war schwarz und drear
aus mir heraus unwürdig und unbekannt
es gibt eine Stadt, builded durch keine Hand
in Ihrem Flug
ich sah, daß Gott Sie es? bezweifeln
Material des Mondes
warum die Sachen sind, die keinen Tod haben
in den Hallen des Schlafes wandered Sie vorbei


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