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my poems, written so early,
What I did not know, I - poet,
to disrupt, as from a fountain splashes,
Like sparks from rockets,

broke into, like little devils,
In the sanctuary, where sleep and incense,
My poems about youth and death,
- unreadable poems!

Scattered in the dust shopping,
Where no one would take and not take,
my poems, like precious wines,
Their turn will come.

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