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famous poetry

my soul is a dark ploughed field
they threw a stone, you threw a stone
fat black bucks in a wine-barrel room
o fair and stately maid, whose eyes
high-born race
beneath my window in a city street
i had over-prepared the event
stand here by my side
she burst fierce wine
a poet, having taken the bridle off his tongue
there was a strangeness on your lips
i see all human wits

 



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