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That valleys, groves, or hills, or fields, or woods and steepest mountains yield. How happy are lovers, how pleasing their pain.
He that can't live upon love deserves to die in a ditch. For life to come, is false to the past sweet. He would love, she would not. Perplexed in the extreme: of one, whose hand threw a pearl away.
Speak of me as I am; nothing extenuate. But one always returns to one's first loves.