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Flos Morti

Rating: 2.7
Maiden, whom I so briefly knew
That unto me thou art a dream,
A lovely vision lost to view
Across the dark, relentless stream,

They bring thee final gifts, and one,
A broken lyre of fragrance deep,
Is symbol of thy life, undone
By that cold hand whose clasp gives sleep.
They bring thee flowers, who wert a flower
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6/14/2021 7:30:33 PM # 1.0.0.623