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love poetry chat

é ido
em seus regimentals ásperos
há uma cidade, builded por nenhuma mão
sua cara é justa e lisa e fina
uma vez este turf macio
o pitiful pequeno, desgastado, caras rir
melancolia, azul era
babylon -- onde eu vou sonhar
antes do saint de bronze solemn
olhar além
não se aflija que sobre
eu agito meu cabelo no vento da manhã

 



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