| Yonder see the morning blink |
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| On forelands high in heaven |
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| The Culprit |
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| He looked at me with eyes I thought |
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| Spring Morning |
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| Oh on my breast in days hereafter |
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| Now dreary dawns the eastern light |
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| They shall have breath that never were |
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| When the eye of day is shut |
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| Oh turn not in from marching |
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