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Antonio Machado |
| Always fugitive and always
Near me, in black mantel Not well covered the scornful one This of your pale face. I don't know where you go, neither where Your virgin beauty thalamus It looks for in the night. I don't know What dreams they close your lids, Neither of who has half-opened Your inhospitable channel. Detén the step, beauty It avoids, detén the step. You kiss he/she wanted the bitter one. It makes bitter flower of your lips. |
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