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Earth
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SAD is my lot; among the shining spheres Wheeling, I weave incessant day and night, And ever, in my never-ending flight, Add woes to woes, and count up tears on tears. Young wives’ and new-born infants’ hapless biers Lie on my breast, a melancholy sight; Fresh griefs abhor my fresh returning light; Pain and remorse and want fill up my years. My happier children’s farther-piercing eyes
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