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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2005-10-27 | [Ce texte devrait être lu en romana] | Inscrit à la bibliotèque par Ionescu Bogdan
I had been sitting alone with books,
Till doubt was a black disease, When I heard the cheerful shout of rooks In the bare, prophetic trees. Bare trees, prophetic of new birth, You lift your branches clean and free To be a beacon to the earth, A flame of wrath for all to see. And the rooks in the branches laugh and shout To those that can hear and understand: "Walk through the gloomy ways of doubt With the torch of vision in your hand."
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