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Poem	The woods have stored the rain, and slow comes the smoke As rice is cooked on faggots and carried to the fields; Over the quiet marsh-land flies a white egret, And mango-birds are singing in the full summer trees.... I have learned to watch in peace the mountain morningglories, To eat split dewy sunflower-seeds under a bough of pine, To yield the post of honour to any boor at all.... Why should I frighten sea gulls, even with a thought?
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