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Lamenting The Absence Of A Cherished Friend

Though small my basket, all my toil
Filled it with mouse-ears but in part.
I set it on the path, and sighed
For the dear master of my heart.

My steeds, o'er-tasked, their progress stayed,
When midway up that rocky height.
Give me a cup from that gilt vase--
When shall this longing end in sight?

To mount that lofty ridge I drove,
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8/2/2021 5:26:54 AM # 1.0.0.666