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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2005-06-30 | [Aestu textŭ lipseashti s-hibâ dghivâsitŭ tu english] | Ânyrâpsitŭ tu bibliotecâ di nu
Deep within me sleep songs unsung,
Which neither suffering nor joy have yet brought forth, Wich sleep on awaiting a happier day To burst aut and be sung without fear or grief. Deep within me my songs or dormant.. I am a volcano, lying quiescent, But when the day comes, they will all burst aut, In a thousand immortal colours spout. But will the day come for my songs to awaken? Or will the ages continue their derision? No! no! Because freedom has begun to bloom And I feel the warmth of the (alegoric) Sun. Oh, sleeping songs, my personal relics, Still to any other heart unknown. Only I, like a child, with you am content, I –your candle, and perhaps your tomb.
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