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A pitcher of mignonette / In a tenement’s highest casement,— …
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As to a bird’s song she were listening, / Her beautiful head is ever sidewise bent; …
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She might have known it in the earlier Spring,— / That all my heart with vague desire was stirred; …
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Les morts vont vite! Ay, for a little space / We miss and mourn them fallen from their place; …
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This is a breath of summer wind / That comes—we know not how—that goes …
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She was a beauty in the days / When Madison was President, …
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Haro! haro! / Judge now betwixt this woman and me, …
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I take my chaperon to the play— / She thinks she ’s taking me. …
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Oh, what ’s the way to Arcady, / To Arcady, to Arcady; …
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Wind of the City Streets, / Impatient to be free, …