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Lab7/poem.txt

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+A DAGGER
+
+I always carry tightly under my belt
+a small african steel dagger
+-- like those that blacks are used to playing with --
+that I bought from an old merchant in Algiers.
+
+I remember, as if it were now, the old shopkeeper,
+who looked like an old oil painting by Goya,
+standing next to long swords and tattered uniforms,
+saying in a hoarse voice the following words :
+
+"This here dagger that you want to buy
+legend has surrounded with eery stories,
+and everyone knows that those who owned it at some time,
+each has murdered one close to him.
+
+Don Basilio murdered Donna Julia with it,
+his beautiful wife, because she was unfaithful.
+Conte Antonio, one night, his wretched brother
+was slyly murdering with this here dagger.
+
+A black his young lover out of jealousy
+and some Italian sailor a Greek boatswain.
+From hand to hand it passed and into mine.
+Many things my eyes have seen, but this one makes me quiver.
+
+Come close and look at it, it has an anchor and a crest,
+it's light, why take it, it's not even a quarter,
+but I would advise you to buy something else."
+-- How much? -- Seven francs only. As long as you want it, take it.
+
+A small dagger I have tightly in my belt,
+that a whim made me make it my own;
+and because I hate no one in the world to kill,
+I am afraid lest some day I turn it against myself ...
+
+    ~ Nikos Kavvadias ~