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The Cuban Doctor
I went to Egypt to escape
The Indian, but the Indian struck
Out of his cloud and from his sky.
The Indian, but the Indian struck
Out of his cloud and from his sky.
This was no worm bred in the moon,
Wriggling far down the phantom air,
And on a comfortable sofa dreamed.
Wriggling far down the phantom air,
And on a comfortable sofa dreamed.
The Indian struck and disappeared.
I knew my enemy was near—I,
Drowsing in summer's sleepiest horn.
I knew my enemy was near—I,
Drowsing in summer's sleepiest horn.
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