martedì 2 marzo 2010

Oibò.

BIRENO (wandering alone)
Mild Death, I call thee; thee I pray, 'n' dream of;
And yet I do not love thee. A fierce despise
Thy brother, Love, hath risen into me;
So, remov'd from the latter, did I look
The former for the first. But shall a father
Love his worst son, because the best has died?

[cosa non ci viene in mente mentre nuotiamo.]

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