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i see all human wits
let us pity those who are better off than we are
take my bracelets
where shall i find you
three days i heard them grieve when i lay dead
day is done
there is no escape by the river
the saddest of the year
woman much missed, how you call to me, call to me
a gleam of gold in gloom and gray
a blue-black nubian plucking oranges

 



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