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■ A 8th Bienal do Douro sem limites
Romanian Spell-Checker Contato |
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| [Este texto deve ser lido em english]
I went off with my hands in my torn coat pockets ;
My overcoat too was becoming ideal ; I travelled beneath the sky, Muse! and I was your vassal ; Oh dear me! what marvellous loves I dreamed of ! My only pair of breeches had a big whole in them. – Stargazing Tom Thumb, I sowed rhymes along my way. My tavern was at the Sign of the Great Bear. – My stars in the sky rustled softly. And I listened to them, sitting on the road-sides On those pleasant September evenings while I felt drops Of dew on my forehead like vigorous wine ; And while, rhyming among the fantastical shadows, I plucked like the strings of a lyre the elastics Of my tattered boots, one foot close to my heart !
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