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over the river, on the hill
i see all human wits
i can not tell you now
under a spreading chestnut tree
last midnight
i despise my friends more than you
why are the things that have no death
i go my way complacently
little gate was reached at last
there were three in the meadow by the brook
there is no escape by the river
i think it just splendid
bring me soft song

 



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