��angelfromparis
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- angelfromparis posted on 12/23/2009With closed eyes in autumn's eves of gold I breathe the burning odours of your breast, Before my eyes the hills of happy rest Bathed in the sun's monotonous fires, unfold. Islands of Lethe where exotic boughs Bend with their burden of strange fruit bowed down, Where men are upright, maids have never grown Unkind, but bear a light upon their brows. Led by that perfume to these lands of ease, I see a port where many ships have flown With sails outwearied of the wandering seas
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