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the willows, and the hazel copses green,
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the likeness of the wood's remembered leaves.
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his days in peace; but his straight lips were bent,
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for vessels moulded by a mortal hand?
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from the slaughtering of my offspring, and the spoiling of my land;
0
what i have heard,
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but laon? on high freedom's desert land
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the soul with sweetness, and like an adept
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on that shaded day,
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no answer came; but faint and forlorn
0
the lady eunice such a life she flew
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and heavy as the dead.
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i would not live alway--live alway below!
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for suddenly the sweet bells overcame
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yon creamy lily for their pavilion
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a woman has been strangled with less weight:
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appeared to me,--may i again behold it!
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howled through the dark, like sounds from hell.
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make a fragrance of her fame.
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betrayed how mightily its heart was stirred,
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overleaning, with flickering meaning and sign,
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thy outward thus with outward praise is crowned,
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troubling with life the waters of the world.
0
no man could compete with kwasind.
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that by nor sound nor word
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when our mother nature laughs around;
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from kindling spark struck out from dead king's brow,
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and the words which he utters, are--worship, or die!
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precisely, at all events, what he ought not,
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rang the beautiful wild chimes
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first feels the gathering head of steam,
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the weird pathetic scarlet of day dawning,
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and to thy brief captivity was brought
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and listening to thy home's familiar chime
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sometimes towards heav'n and the full-blazing sun,
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all right,' says t'other, 'only step round smart;
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grander, nobler, than that pilot
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dearest, why should i mourn, whimper, and whine, i that have yet to live?
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in every health we drink, my boys,
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but your dead-ripe ones ranges high fer treatin' nothun bretherin;
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where holds the soul communion with its god,
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so runs the perfect cycle of the year.
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the limpid ocean mirrors all the stars,
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ashes and jet all hues outshine.
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many changes have been run
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as childhood's sweet delight.
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"it is a lie, a damned, infernal lie!"
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bred onely and completed to the taste
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and after that the winter cold and drear.
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thus hee in scorn. the warlike angel mov'd,
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what flecks the outer gray beyond
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"does he mean himself, i wonder?
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lull’d in her lap, amidst a train of loves,
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come up like ocean murmurs. but the scene
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and in a pleasing slumber seals his eyes:
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sweet poesy from heaven
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o, i can ne'er forget
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the leprous corpse, touched by this spirit tender,
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ambrosial odours and ambrosial flowers,
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his sweeter voice a just accordance kept.
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false-faces hung on strings,
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that in their lives such deadly fray they ne'er had seen before.
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her not-nice load.
0
unhitched the breeching from a shaft,
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tis that one told us it was life. 'for not
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who fishes in the frog-pond still?
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"as the gods would i see," said sigurd, "though death light up the land."
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which leans over to the lane,
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you hardly know when you are coming back,
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but the great spirit plants it in our hearts,
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nor is he, as some sages swear,
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of his faint steed; the latter, as he stretch’d
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i strive, i pray.
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who god possesseth
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these often bathed she in her fluxive eyes,
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that you or yours, having an appetite,
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the loveliest king of the king-folk, the man of sweetest speech,
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and fears are added, and avenging flame.
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who felt your own thought worthy of record
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and then, if it should be
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ez though i wanted to enlist 'em,
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behind the sea-wall's rugged length,
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how they will tell the shipwreck
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tis gone past recalling!
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and stiff in fight, but serious drill's despair,
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one lucent foot's delaying tip
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at his approaching footsteps. winter came
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till the deaf fury comes your house to sweep!'
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henceforth to labor's chivalry
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i'll be ther in a minit.
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but now i see, most cruell hee,
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our lives and safeties all;
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that little barley-cake you keep from him
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our wavering apparitions pass
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and ye who attend her imperial car,
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on the clear mirror of a loving heart,
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how weak this tinkling line,
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for that’s his specialty. what creature else
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her thoughts are like the lotus
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thou wovest dreams of joy and fear,
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