Eulalie
I dwelt alone
In a world of moan
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Love Not Me
Love not me for comely grace,
For my pleasing eye or face,
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My Love Is Like to Ice
My love is like to ice, and I to fire:
How come it then that this her cold is so great
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To a Stranger
Passing stranger! you do not know
How longingly I look upon you,
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She Dwelt Among the Untrodden Ways
She dwelt among the untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove,
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Proud of my Broken Heart
Proud of my broken heart, since thou didst break it.
Proud of the pain, I did not feel ‘till thee.
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Reluctance
Out through the fields and the woods
And over the walls I have wended;
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My Friend
My friend must be a bird
Because he flies.
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It's Such a Little Thing
It's such a little thing to weep,
So short a thing to sigh;
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Tell me not, Sweet,
Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind
For, from the nunnery
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