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The Nightingale in fervent song
Doth woo the rose the whole night long,
But to his lay no ear she lendeth,
Her head in innocence she bendeth.

Thus oft the lover sings a strain,
To his guitar, of grief and pain,
With glowing love he hopeth, feareth,
But even if the maiden heareth,
She doth not know of whom he sings,
Or why his song so sadly rings.

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