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type of poem

je suis las d'être amer et las d'être sage
pourquoi faites-vous toujours stand tremblant là
sous la barre du guerrier
un poèt, ayant pris le frein outre de sa langue
mon âme est un champ labouré foncé
environ porté plainte au maître
ma mère m'a enseigné que chaque nuit
gaily par les champs nous avons dansé

 



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