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Who has seen the wind?
Neither I nor you:
But when the leaves hang trembling,
The wind is passing through.
Who has seen the wind?
Neither you nor I:
But when the trees bow down their heads,
The wind is passing by.
by Christina Rossetti
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Cigarette smoke and old books. Faded sketches and rain-soaked streets. The poetry of solitude written in sepia tones.
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