Gustaf Frödinq
All that is earthly must die, must die;
But no, 'tis himself that his strong hands fashion.
But no, 'tis himself that his strong hands fashion.
Pass, O bard, erect as a king.
To the host of the shades through the darksome portal!
Still we cherish
Your limpid-silvery notes immortal.
Singing to us as they used to sing.
To the host of the shades through the darksome portal!
Still we cherish
Your limpid-silvery notes immortal.
Singing to us as they used to sing.
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