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To ——
by: Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849)
I heed not that my earthly lot
Hath—little of Earth in it—
That years of
love
have been forgot
In the hatred of a minute:—
I mourn not that the desolate
Are happier, sweet, than I,
But that
you
sorrow for
my
fate
Who am a passer-by.
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poems by Edgar Allan Poe