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POEM: DIRGE
    Ring out your bells, let mourning sed it ed, And faiteful fancy; From suc use men thus, Good Lord, deliver us.

    eep, neig  said t Love is dead:  is sor, blame. From so ungrateful fancy; From suc use men thus, Good Lord, deliver us.

    Let dirge be sung, and trentals rigomb ordainetress marble ; apainet;.quot; From so ungrateful fancy; From suc use men thus, Good Lord, deliver us.

    Alas! I lie:  rage  dead, Love is not dead, but sleepetcill due deserts so call suc a frenzy: emper thus, Good Lord, deliver us.
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首页 >The Defence of Poetry简介 >The Defence of Poetry目录 > POEM: DIRGE