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The Swallow
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Lotos Eating
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My Thrush
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The Masculine waiter in his suit of sable
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Now I'm alone, with port in my decanter
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I have no fancy for the ugly domes
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But on a sweet soft tranquil eve of spring
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'What next?' I marvel: but I follow her
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Comes Helen. How the virgin vision touches
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O, there is plenty for the true romancer
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