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[ti:A Celle Qui Est Trop Gaie (To Her Who Is Too Gay)] |
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[ar:elijah's mantle] |
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[al:Legacy of Corruption] |
| [02:15.28] |
Your air, your bearing and your grace |
| [02:19.12] |
Are scenic wonders on display, |
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And laughter has a lovely way |
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Of playing havoc with your face. |
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Infected by your radiance, |
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The melancholy passer-by |
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Lifts up his head to catch your eye --- |
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a brief and private audience. |
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The startling costumes you prefer, |
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The gypsy wit of your attire |
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Could set a poet's heart on fire, |
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Image of a ballet of flowers. |
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Those motley gowns are emblems of |
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A madcap soul's vitality; |
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But I am the fool, for I can be |
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A fool for hate as well as love. |
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Ironically, when most depressed, |
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I've dragged myself through burgeoning |
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Green gardens overcome with spring, |
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Where sunlight lacerates my breast; |
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When all that young luxuriance |
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Half mocked and half rebuked my woes, |
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I had to desecrate a rose |
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To punish Nature's insolence. |
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And I'd crawl, quiet as a worm, |
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When midnight sounds and everywhere, |
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The cyies of lovers fill the air |
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To spy upon your sleeping form, |
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Degrace your innocence a bit, |
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Till that proud flesh be mortified, |
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Then down your unsuspecting side |
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I'd carve a deep and bloody slit, |
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And by that virgin orifice, |
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I would inject in you, sweet dream, |
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My venom, in an endless dream, |
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But with exquisite tenderness! |