27 Morns like these—we parted— Noons like these—she rose— Fluttering first—then firmer To her fair repose. Never did she lisp it— It was not for me— She—was mute from transport— I—from agony— Till—the evening nearing One the curtains drew— Quick! A Sharper rustling! And this linnet flew!SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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