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DRINK TO ME ONLY, |
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2.
I sent thee late a rosy wreath,
Not so much honouring thee, As giving it a hope that there
It could not withered be; But thou thereon didst only breathe,
And sent'st it back to me Since when it grows, and smells, I swear,
Not of itself, but thee. |
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H. 4868. |
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