| Our garden in no need Of cypress and of pine is |
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| Thyself with the secret of Jemshid's cup Acquainted ill thou canst make |
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| The Love of black-eyed maids, indeed, Forth of my pate will nowise go |
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| The Violet spake to the rose last night And a goodly sign hath given |
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| Ne'er of thy watcher this heart of mine is quit |
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| Though my case, indeed, is tangled Grown by those her tresses two |
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| Such am I that the tavern-nook A hermitage for me is |
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| Hark to the harp and the ghittern, What notification they make |
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| When Time Unbegun thy beauty's sheen In manifestation set |
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| Every moment I bemoan me Of the hand of separation |
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