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September 5, 2003 by AK

More Waginov

O wondrous Psyche!

Where are gone the azure wings,

The light eyes,

And the golden braids?

How terrible is the eyes’ incinerated look,

Still enamored with pure expanses!

Into a dreadful wood your life has entered;

Burnt out, you’re doomed to flash;

A light will-o’-the-wisp, you ramble here and there,

And ‘mid the night you lure astray the way-farer.


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