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romantic poetry

das Kind, das weg Blatt nach Blatt warf
sehr gut Sie Liberale
ich wußte nie, daß die Masse soviel Gold hatte
ein Schimmer des Goldes in gloom und Grau
von der Sonne noch Sterne
es gibt eine Stadt, builded durch keine Hand
lassen Sie uns unsere niedrigeren Neigungen ausdrücken
ängstlich nicht mehr, sage ich

 



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