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type of poem

cette cuvette argentée antique du mien
à ce qui une femme la comparera aimée
écoutez la mer retentissante
le soleil et vent et battement de mer
roses et or
descendu à l'aube des collines windless
je dédaigne mes amis davantage que vous
aucune proie ne suis moi des pensées faibles
nos moments plaisants volent
à l'aube, il a dit

 



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