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minha alma é um campo ploughed escuro
sobre o rio, no monte
receoso não mais, eu digo
como ele de quem espírito na chama do meio-dia
da canção e do sonho para ido sempre
eu sou o vento que wavers
não esteja irritado com mim
eu detestei-o
uma vez este turf macio
macio como a cama na terra
eu fiz um voto uma vez, um somente
é verdadeiro que você diz que os deuses lhe são mais uso do que fairies

 



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