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Ernest Christopher Dowson - Yvonne of Brittany
Work rating: Low

In your mother`s apple-orchard
    It is grown too dark to stray,
  There is none to chide you, Yvonne!
    You are over far away.
  There is dew on your grave grass, Yvonne!
    But your feet it shall not wet:
  No, you never remember, Yvonne!
    And I shall soon forget.
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