Richard Lovelace
London / England
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Song.

Rating: 2.9
I.
In mine one monument I lye,
And in my self am buried;
Sure, the quick lightning of her eye
Melted my soul ith' scabberd dead;
And now like some pale ghost I walk,
And with another's spirit talk.

II.
Nor can her beams a heat convey,
That may my frozen bosome warm,
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