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The eyes I spoke about so warmly,

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‘Gli occhi di ch'io parlai sí caldamente,'

The eyes I spoke about so warmly,
and the arms, the hands, the ankles, and the face
that left me so divided from myself,
and made me different from other men:
the crisp hair of pure shining gold
and the brightness of the angelic smile,
which used to make a paradise on earth,
are now a little dust, that feels no thing.

And I still live, which I grieve over and disdain,
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