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Come down, ye graybeard mariners, / Unto the wasting shore! …
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The fresh, bright bloom of the daffodils / Makes gold in the garden bed, …
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Sweet, sweet, sweet, / Is the wind’s song, …
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Autumn was cold in Plymouth town; / The wind ran round the shore, …
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what dost thou here, / Thou dusky courtier, …
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On kingston Bridge the starlight shone / Through hurrying mists in shrouded glow; …
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the fair Pamela came to town, / To London town, in early summer; …
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I and my cousin Wildair met / And tossed a pot together;— …
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More shy than the shy violet, / Hiding when the wind doth pass, …
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The tide slips up the silver sand, / Dark night and rosy day; …
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Memory cannot linger long, / Joy must die the death. …
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“dame, how the moments go— / And the bride is not ready! …