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Rating: 2.6
Mine is a wayward lay;
And, if its echoing rhymes I try to string,
Proveth a truant thing,
Whenso some names I love, send it away!

For then, eyes swimming o'er,
And clasped hands, and smiles in fondness meant,
Are much more eloquent --
So it had fain begone, and speak no more!
Yet shall it come again,
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6/14/2021 4:35:57 PM # 1.0.0.623