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modern poetry

sua cara é justa e lisa e fina
o rolo sad do cilindro muffled tem a batida
eu sei não onde
há um país completamente do vinho
doubtless eu recordo ainda
diga-me
quando eu era quebrou em Londres
eu encho este copo
doce e forte
uma vez este turf macio
a noite é escura, e os ventos do inverno
gaily através dos campos nós dançamos

 



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