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Arthur Rimbaud - The Soul
Work rating: Low

Eternal Undines, split the pure water. 
Venus, sister of azure, stir up the clear wave. 
Wandering Jews of Norway, tell me of snow; 
old beloved exiles tell me of the sea. 
Myself: No, no more of these pure drinks, 
these water-flowers for glasses; 
neither legends nor faces quench my thirst; 
singer, your god-child is my thirst so mad, 
a mouthless intimate hydra 
which consumes and ravages.
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