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One wakes up from it about the beginning of the last week in September. This is what I remember of his poem: An Unpublished Poem, by my late Latin Tutor In candent ire the solar splendor flames; The foles, languescent, pend from arid rames; His humid front the cive, anheling, wipes, And dreams of erring on ventiferous ripes.
One wakes up from it about the beginning of the last week in September. This is what I remember of his poem: An Unpublished Poem, by my late Latin Tutor. In candent ire the solar splendor flames; The foles, languescent, pend from arid rances; His humid front the cive, anheling, wipes, And dreams of erring on ventiferous ripes.
One wakes up from it about the beginning of the last week in September. This is what I remember of his poem: An Unpublished Poem, by my late Latin Tutor In candent ire the solar splendor flames; The foles, languescent, pend from arid rames; His humid front the cive, anheling, wipes, And dreams of erring on ventiferous ripes.
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