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Between trees, a slender woman lifts up the lovely shadow
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beware of dryness of heart love the morning spring
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swallow chattering
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that knew it as the present while I thought
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To the dim light and the large circle of shade
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The heart of a scorpion is swidden
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rock-tight, then loosening like scarves the wind takes
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Just as I ought. My vision, becoming pure,
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I nodded, slept—and without my watching, the world,
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the sting of joy, a lilt of crimson,