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To not forget our loving, should |
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I a sign implore? |
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I'd ask for you, but dearest, you are your own no more |
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Nor do I beg a flower from in your golden hair |
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Forgetfulness, beloved is but my single player |
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Oh what a sad sensation, when joy that soon did wane |
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Not swift with it to vanish, but ever here remain! |
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When through tits life to wander it has been writ, it seem |
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A dream made out of shadow, a shadow made of dream |
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No matter when |
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I die, this or some later day |
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My wish is out of the mind of all to |
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I pass away |
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And you forget the dream that our two hearts endears |
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When you loom back, beloved, upon the faded years |
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Let in the depths of shadow my memory be gone |
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As though we midst our loving each other had not known |
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A chant of lamentation within cold walls of chime |
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To beg for me in weeping the peace of endless time |
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As though those hours of wonder in fact we did not live |
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That I so deeply love you dear one can you forgive? |
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My face turned to the desert you left me all alone |
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And cold beneath my eyelids my eyes have turned to stone |
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And when at last death's soil my body does reclaim |
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Then who will know me or know from whence |
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I came? Let in the depths of shadow my memory be gone |
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As though we midst our loving each other had not known |
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A chant of lamentation within cold walls of chime |
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To beg for me in weeping the peace of endless time |
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While then... should they my body into the gutter throw |
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Still that would be far better than what |
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I suffer now |
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Afar of in distance a flock of crows arise |
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And darken all the heavens before my sightless eyes |
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Beyond the earth's steep margin a hurricane does start |
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Flinging to the world my dust and to the wind my heart |
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Yet as in spring the blossom do you remain the while |
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With gentle eyes and humid and tender, childish smile |
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So much a child, yet seeming each day to younger grow |
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And of my fate know nothing as |
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I too nothing know |
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My face turned to the desert you left me all alone |
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And cold beneath my eyelids my eyes have turned to stone |
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And when at last death's soil my body does reclaim |
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Then who will know me or know from whence |
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I came? While then... should they my body into the gutter throw |
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Still that would be far better than what |
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I suffer now |