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gothic poetry

o ar é como uma borboleta
eighty anos passaram, e mais
sua cara é justa e lisa e fina
veio fazer exame de me pela mão
as canções antigas
passagem através das paredes huddled e feias
quando eu era quebrou em Londres
um pensamento doce solemn
acima deles todos, olhando para baixo
os navios estão encontrando-se na baía
as estrelas caíram do heaven

 



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