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POEMS
Emil Aarestrup
1800-1856
Blikket
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Du aabner halvt kun Øiet -
Men denne Spalt, den Strimmel
Af en formørket, skyet,
Heel overtrukken Himmel -
O, ingen Sommerklarhed
Er skjønnere i Verden,
Saa kjøligmørk, saa regnblaa,
Saa foraarsdeilig er den!
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