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But not to Lee. He sits alone;
No fellowship nor joy for him;
Borne down by woe,—but not a moan,—
Though tears will sometimes dim
That asking eye. O, how his worn thoughts crave—
Not joy again, but rest within the grave.
No fellowship nor joy for him;
Borne down by woe,—but not a moan,—
Though tears will sometimes dim
That asking eye. O, how his worn thoughts crave—
Not joy again, but rest within the grave.
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