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Grown about by Fragrant Bushes

Grown about by fragrant bushes,
Sunken in a winding valley,
     Where the clear winds blow
     And the shadows come and go,
     And the cattle stand and low
And the sheep bells and the linnets
     Sing and tinkle musically.
Between the past and the future,
     Those two black infinities
     Between which our brief life
     Flashes a moment and goes out.
Otras obras de Robert Louis Stevenson...



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