| How long, o heart, wilt shed my blood? Before the eye take shame at last |
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| Good-news-bringer be, O breeze of the Northland air! |
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| A Goodly saying have I heard, Of Canaan's patriarch grey bespoken |
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| The Tale of cypress, tulip, rose By mead and rill betideth |
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| Yesternight the angels knocking At the winehouse-door I spied |
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| Skinker, youth's capital here come bring |
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| If it be granted me of Fate With yonder charmer to foregather |
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| Ballad of Ladies' Love, Number Two |
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| In the bigot seeming-holy Knowledge of our state is not |
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| From hand my heart goeth: help! help! Ye pious! By all that's Divine! |
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