| Ay, in sweet sport I named her Marigold |
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| And all her fresh flusht face was smitten through |
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| 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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| The Two Worlds |
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| Salad |
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| Salad: After Browning |
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| Salad: After Swinburne |
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