John Keats
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Love flows in my soul
as it flows fifty thousand years ago
and can hear its song
touching my bosom again and again,
string of meaningful verses
play on,
a blazing drop of rain
hangs in my dream
reflecting its beauty ever,
pianissimo play on I feel,
Moorgate, Rome...with luminance
keeps its status in the pages,
your verses:
''A thing of beauty is a joy forever.
Its loveliness increases,
it will never pass into nothingness...''
touch my heart again.
Bu şiiri puanla
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