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brother poem

i saw you hunched and shivering on the stones
and breaketh bread no more
here falls no light
our pleasant moments fly
the rain was over, and the brilliant air
now for a brisk and cheerful fight
under a spreading chestnut tree
it is true that you say the gods are more use to you than fairies
were it not for that singular smell
a bird sang
to clothe the fiery thought

 



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