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My LoVe

MY LOVE, we will go, we will go, you, and I and away in the woods we
will scatter the dew: and the salmon behold, and the ousel too, my love,
we will hear, you and I, we will hear, the calling afar of the doe and
the deer. And the bird in the branches will cry for us clear, and the
cuckoo unseen in his festival mood: and death, oh my fair one, will
never come near in the bosom afar of the fragrant wood.

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