| Ay, she was once the guardian of my nursery |
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| Thither I'll go at midnight, if the sexton |
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| London should surely have its due poetic |
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| And then he wandered many a weary year |
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| The Masculine waiter in his suit of sable |
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| Now I'm alone, with port in my decanter |
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| I have no fancy for the ugly domes |
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| But on a sweet soft tranquil eve of spring |
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| 'What next?' I marvel: but I follow her |
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| Comes Helen. How the virgin vision touches |
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