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Above the wooded Brega,
In the hour of the evening silence,
Noise and songs under tents,
And the lights spread out.

Hi, happy tribe!
I find out your fires;
I'd have at any other time
I accompanied these tents.

Tomorrow the first light
Your away a free trail,
You go - but for you
Do not go too your poet.

On brodâŝie nocleg
And leprosy antiquity
Forgotten rural bliss
And the home of silence.

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