Song of the triumph of night

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Where the gold finishes
so slowly, flags,
risen at night.

I hear a murmur
of many waters:
with the wind, against you,
wild horses.
When you hear the call
of the hunting horns,
you will always belong
to the dark realm.

Alas, the old rooted
pain which has no dawn!


Autor(es): Salvador Espriu, Raimon

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