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esta bacia de prata antiga de meus
os dias melancólicos vieram
sobre o rio, no monte
mas eu não posso lê-lo agora
diga-me
sad são que sabem não o amor
a filha, arte do thou vem morrer
como ela
em todas as coisas não faladas de
pássaros de encontro ao vento de abril
um pássaro cantou
fora de mim unworthy e desconhecido

 



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