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Robert Graves - Finland
Work rating: Low

Feet and faces tingle   
In that frore land:   
Legs wobble and go wingle,   
You scarce can stand.   
   
The skies are jewelled all around, 
The ploughshare snaps in the iron ground,   
The Finn with face like paper   
And eyes like a lighted taper   
Hurls his rough rune   
At the wintry moon 
And stamps to mark the tune.
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