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Whatsoever a solitude
Sans the swan nor the quay
Sights its desuetude
In the look I abdicated
Here vainglory
High as not to be touched
Many a sky thence coloring
With the golds of sunset
But coasts languorous
As white linen doffed
Some flighty bird if plunges
Exultantly close-off
In the wave become you
Your jubilation nude.
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