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Abolishes a dentelle
Doubting the Game supreme
Half-open like blaspheming
On absence of bed eternal.
Unanimous this white fight
Festoon up against the same,
Gone toward the deathly pane
More than it buries floats.
Yet, in one wrapping dreams
in gold
Sadly dozes a mandola's
Empty nothing musical
So that unto any window
By no other than its belly,
Filial one might have been born.
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