| More goodly than pleasance and mirth In garden and Spring what is? |
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| My heart of the world is weary And all that is therein |
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| When hand to her tress I clap, away She in heat goeth |
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| Except wine from our mind the thought Of the heart's care shall carry |
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| If my heart of the musk-scented grapejuice Incline me to drink, 'tis meet |
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| 'Tis Hallowe'en and shut the book of parting |
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| So but it were vouchsafed me To win unto thy street |
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| Last night, with the torrent of tears, The passage of sleep I waylaid |
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| "Pity, monarch of the lovely", Quoth I, "to this stranger show!" |
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| Now from the garden there breathe The breezes of Paradise |
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