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sad death poem

ruhig mit reverance, im Awe
ihr Gesicht ist angemessen und glatt und fein
ich erwarte Sie
warum so traurig mein reizendes?
Frau vermißte viel, wie Sie zu mir benennen, Anruf zu mir
Schlaf, grauer Bruder des Todes
das Kind, das weg Blatt nach Blatt warf
ich loathed Sie
als ich in Ihre Augen schaute
ich sah mit geöffneten Augen
niedrig! ' tis ein Galanacht
wenn ihr Haar wild flaying

 



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