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Часть текста: They're on the way, the words of love and freedom, They're flying faster than the moment flies And I am in stage fright before singing - My lips have grown colder than ice. But soon that place, where, leaning to the windows The tender birches make dry rustling sound, The voices will be ringing of the shadows And roses will in blackened wreaths be wound. And further onward still - the light is generous Unbearably as though ‘t were red hot wine.. And now the wind, all redolent and heated, In perfect vigor has enflamed my mind.
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