That divine swoon. He would love, she would not. To love me also in silence, with thy soul. These hours, and only these, redeem Life's years of ill.
True love hates and will not bear delay. Her glorious fancies come from far, beneath the silver evening star.
Love grants in a moment what toil can hardly achieve in an age. Night without a morning. Hate will return with your love. How do I love thee? Oh let me count the ways.
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