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Jan Kubelik

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Your bow swept over a string, and a long low note quivered to the air.
(A mother of Bohemia sobs over a new child perfect learning to suck milk.)

Your bow ran fast over all the high strings fluttering and wild.
(All the girls in Bohemia are laughing on a Sunday afternoon in the hills with their lovers.)


Source: Poetry

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This poem originally appeared in the March 1914 issue of Poetry magazine

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Jan Kubelik

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