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have we no shame?
one sweetly solemn thought
once this soft turf
a look is but a ray
my son is dead and i am going blind
the old west, the old time
arched the flood
now for a brisk and cheerful fight
a little peach in the orchard grew
by the shore, by the sea
she burst fierce wine
a blue-black nubian plucking oranges
i said, i have shut my heart

 



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