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Johann Wolfgang von Goethe - To His Coy One
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SEEST thou yon smiling Orange?
Upon the tree still hangs it;
Already March bath vanish`d,
And new-born flow`rs are shooting.
I draw nigh to the tree then,
And there I say: Oh Orange,
Thou ripe and juicy Orange,
Thou sweet and luscious Orange,
I shake the tree, I shake it,
Oh fall into my lap!
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