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The Arrow
| I thought of your beauty, and this arrow, | | Made out of a wild thought, is in my marrow. | | There’s no man
may look upon her, no man, | | As when newly grown to be a woman, | | Tall and noble but with face and
bosom | | Delicate in colour as apple blossom. | | This beauty’s kinder, yet for a reason | | I could weep that the
old is out of season. |
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By PanEris
using Melati.
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