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facce belle e tragical
che cosa noi ora farŕ
sonno dolce nelle vostre tombe humble
sopra il fiume beckon a me
veda, da questa falsificazione di lui
li ho detestati
quando ero si č rotto a Londra
i drowses pallidi di giorno sull'occidentale bagnano
piantiamo
č andato
ho fatto una volta soltanto un voto, uno
e pane del breaketh non di piů

 



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