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AUTUMN SONG

With long sobs the violin-throbs
of autumn wound my heart with languorous
and montonous sound.

Choking and pale When I mind the tale
the hours keep, my memory strays
down other days and I weep;

and I let me go where ill winds blow
now here, now there, harried and sped,
even as a dead leaf, anywhere.

PAUL VERLAINE


























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