Gone
H
Henrik Johan Ibsen
0
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THE last, late guest
To the gate we followed;
Goodbye -- and the rest
The night-wind swallowed.
House, garden, street,
Lay tenfold gloomy,
Where accents sweet
Had made music to me.
It was but a feast
With the dark coming on;
She was but a guest --
And now, she is gone.
Kamu malı: şairin ölümünün üzerinden 70 yıldan fazla geçti.
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