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death poetry

seien Sie, Leben geduldig, wenn Liebe am Gatter ist
gestiegen von den Toten
eine Meile nach
ich bin vom Sein bitter und träge vom Sein klug träge
ich bin alt und blind
wie Adler auf hoher Höhe
Sonne trat unten von seinem goldenen Throne
zu, was eine Frau sie geliebt vergleicht
süsses splendor
das Emporheben, als der Wind brannte durch
ängstlich nicht mehr, sage ich

 



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