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To read only children's books, To have only childish thoughts, To throw everything grown-up away, To rise from deep sadness.
I am deathly tired of life, I will accept nothing from it. But I love my poor land, For I have seen no other.
I rocked in a distant garden On a plain wooden swing, Tall dark fir trees I recall in a hazy fever.
Osip Emilevich Mandelstam
| Submitted Date |
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Wednesday, April 07, 2010 |
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