The Augustean nights will come, bright and sad
like the blue of your eyes, like the lost tunes,
like all the past words of love that ran to hide.
After all, a thousand years, following the fight
nobody remembers the agony of closed lips.
Only the buttons of my shirt will be dripping wet
and the copper clouds of your smooth voice
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Princess Yvonne and Prince Alexander, by Princess Marianne Sayn-Wittgenstein-Sayn
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*(written for Northography)
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