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I EVER GO seeking for this self of mine;

but how can I know

the fugitive, who flits in dreams

in changing forms and guises?

Often have I listened to its voice

in the heart of my own songs,

but never know I where it dwells.

The hours pass, the light fades,

the farewell tune is wafted in the evening breeze

from the flute of a passer-by.

 

 

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