
The Russian Song
In distant lands, on hill and plain, thus do I dream, when nights are long, — and memory gives back again the whisper of that long-lost song. — V. Nabokov
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In distant lands, on hill and plain, thus do I dream, when nights are long, — and memory gives back again the whisper of that long-lost song. — V. Nabokov
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The window holds the breath of rain. I sink into the blueness of sleep. Dream and daylight braid, as the shadows of the leaves sway.
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