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Poem	The great man turns his back on the island. Now he will not die in paradise nor hear again the lutes of paradise among the olive trees, by the clear pools under the cypresses. Time begins now, in which he hears again that pulse which is the narrative sea, ar dawn when its pull is stongest. What has brought us here will lead us away; our ship sways in the tined harbor water. Now the spell is ended. Giove him back his life, sea that can only move forward.
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