New Love Poems
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O bid me mount and sail up there

Amid the cloudy wrack,

For peg and Meg and Paris' love

That had so straight a back,

Are gone away, and some that stay

Have changed their silk for sack.



Were I but there and none to hear

I'd have a peacock cry,

For that is natural to a man

That lives in memory,

Being all alone I'd nurse a stone

And sing it lullaby.

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