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o merriment infinito, foolish das estrelas
eu estou morrendo
em setembro
eu nĂŁo pray para a paz
o mestre de destinies humanos Ă© mim
uma vez este turf macio
nĂłs que estiveram
sentar-se em seu balancim que espera seu chá
em algum lugar eu li um tale estranho, velho, oxidado
sob a folha dusky do laurel
se eu morrer, pense somente disto de mim
eu sou cansado de ser amargo e cansado de ser sábio

 



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