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![]() No doubt, as the poet sings; But within her lips, the petals, Lurks a cruel bee that stings. |
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![]() Not into evil wrought: Lord, for the wicked will Betrayed and baffled still: For the heart from itself kept, Our thanksgiving accept. |
![]() With the years that perished to make us men. |
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![]() Have been carved for many a year On the tomb. |
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