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La guitare
fait pleurer les songes. Le sanglot des âmes perdues s'échappe par sa bouche ronde. Et comme la tarentule, elle tisse une grande étoile pour chasser les soupirs qui flottent dans sa noire citerne de bois. (Federico Garcia Lorca, Poème du Cante jondo. Poésies 1921-1927)
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