| A Crown, a crown for Love's bright head |
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| What just excuse had aged Time |
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| Soft, subtle fire, thou soul of art |
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| How young and fresh I am tonight |
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| Epistle to Master Arthur Squib, An |
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| Howe'er the brightness may amaze |
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| Turn him, and see his threads; look if he be |
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| Now look and see in yonder throne |
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| The Dedication of Her Cradle - |
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| The Song of Her Descent - |
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