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She is not happy! It was noon;
The sun fell on my head:
And it was not an hour in which
We think upon the dead.
She is not happy! I should know
Her voice, much more her cry;
And close beside me a great rose
Had just begun to die.
She is not happy! As I walked,
Of her I was aware:
She cried out, like a creature hurt,
Close by me in the air.
The sun fell on my head:
And it was not an hour in which
We think upon the dead.
She is not happy! I should know
Her voice, much more her cry;
And close beside me a great rose
Had just begun to die.
She is not happy! As I walked,
Of her I was aware:
She cried out, like a creature hurt,
Close by me in the air.
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