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The random poem generator takes the first lines of nearly 3,900 poems to make a new poem. To see the full list of what's included, click here.

This night while sleepe begins with heauy wings
Light flows our war of mocking words, and yet,
The years have dowered you with heavenly grace,
Now the tent poles are rotting, the camp fires are dead,
O eyes, which do the Spheares of beautie mooue,
To sea, to sea! The calm is o'er,
If you live along with all the other people
NOught is there vnder heau'ns wilde hollownesse,

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If a nation loses its storytellers, it loses its childhood.
— Peter Handke