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The star that seemed caught in the sea smiled at him, summoned him. Its gold was like the gold, the little feathers of gold in the dark hair of a Sicilian girl singing the song of the May beside the sea: "Maju torna, maju veni Cu li belli soi ciureri " He tried to hum the tune, but it had left his memory. He longed to hear it once more under the olive-trees of the Sirens' Isle.
"Maju torna, maju veni Cu li belli soi ciureri; Oh chi pompa chi nni fa; Maju torna, maju è cc
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