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Jose Marti

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Variant translation:
I cultivate a white rose
In July as in January
For the sincere friend
Who gives me his hand frankly.

 
Jose Marti

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(21 November 1917) Variant translation: Anyone who believes cannot experience miracles. By day one cannot see any stars.

 
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A rose is a rose is a rose is a rose said my old friend Gertrude Stein.

 
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Crops failed; wealth took a flight; house, treasure, land,
Slipped from my hold—thus plenty comes and goes.
One friend I had, but he too loosed his hand
(Or was it I?) the year I met with Rose.

 
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My first impression of the man as of steel was consolidated and enhanced. He told us, amongst other things, of the work he had in hand. Three great books were partially done. The translation of the Arabian Nights, the metrical translation of Camoëns, and the Book of the Sword. These were all works of vast magnitude and requiring endless research. But he lived to complete them all.

 
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My first impression of the man as of steel was consolidated and enhanced. He told us, amongst other things, of the work he had in hand. Three great books were partially done. The translation of the Arabian Nights, the metrical translation of Camoëns, and the Book of the Sword. These were all works of vast magnitude and requiring endless research. But he lived to complete them all.

 
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