B E L Z E B Ù S P O S O
With blackest moss the flower-plots
  Were thickly crusted, one and all: The rusted nails fell from the knots  That held the pear to the gable-wall. The broken sheds look'd sad and strange:   Unlifted was the clinking latch;   Weeded and worn the ancient thatch Upon the lonely moated grange.   She only said, ' My life is dreary,   He cometh not,' she said;   She said, 'I am aweary, aweary,   I would that I were dead!      Alfred Tennyson - Mariana |
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Un tempo lungo ci fu Fremito su nel dito Fremeva e poi pensava Un cielo bianco e terso Il dito si leccava Non c'è sogno più bello Sopra il prato azzurro Poi che io sono saggio Ora Belzebù non si tiene più |
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