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my son is dead and i am going blind
there is a country full of wine
let a joy keep you
they ask me where i've been
i never knew the earth had so much gold
doubtless i remember still
it is true that you say the gods are more use to you than fairies
simplicity
a blue-black nubian plucking oranges
beneath my window in a city street
have you seen walking through the village

 



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