| Don’t drink the wine, it could be blood
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| This torrent could be thine
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| Turbid water cannot glearn
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| Your amity to truth departs
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| The moonlit sky is lightning up in lands where
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| shadows drearn my thoughts
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| I want to deny my frown
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| This war starves out my faith
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| it naughts my peace
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| Weed stamps on it’s guilt, it crumbles off
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| Ere you were born was beauty summer’s dead
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| Find the first conseit of love there bred
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| Faith falling…
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| No bitterness that I have bitter thing
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| Doom’s calling
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| Whatever midnight hath been here
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| The flames of love I cannot view
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| So glid my path with thine eyes
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| Winter’s cold falling deep
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| Make glad seasons as thou fleets
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| through crystal brooks where silence heats
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| Winning, when I saw myself to lose
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| Ruined love is built anew
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| On thorns rose stand
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| Two mourning eyes thy face
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| Bashful dreams, my soul is fled
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| where late sweet birds sand
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| Solicit your evil minds
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| wandering through the morning fog
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| Through the grove where trees conseil the light
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| Through the leaves, through fallen snow
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| My tears on your skin
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| but water cools not pain
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| from my soul which in thy breast doth lie
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| (It's useless shine it may forbear,
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| the weeping days to chase)
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| Find the first conceit of love there bred
|
| Faith falling…
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| No bitterness that I have bitter throught
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| Doom’s calling… |