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wer den Wind nennen wird
meine sorge, wenn sie hier mit mir ist
ich habe die Welt geworfen
in allen Sachen gesprochen nicht von
ca. beschwerte sich zum Meister
noch dreizehn Jahre
erklären Sie mir
das endlose, dumme merriment der Sterne
hören Sie zum klingenden Meer
sĂĽsses splendor
Tochter, thoukunst kommen zu sterben
vor dem ernsten Bronzeheiligen

 



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