| When Summer brooded on her garden-plot |
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| But far away in Megalopolis |
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| You know, Caecilius, all the dreariness |
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| I drained the tankard to the very dregs |
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| There came a dream to me. 'Twas Marigold! |
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| Still may the soft susurrus of the bee |
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| The Two Worlds |
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| Salad: After Swinburne |
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| Salad: After Tennyson |
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| Salad |
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