What have I done? What horrid crime committed? Scarce more than silence is, and yet a sound. What woman says to fond lover should be written on air or the swift water. Ah! The seasons of love roll not backward but onward, downward forever.
To bear too tender or too firm a heart. Hate will return with your love. I wish you could invent some means to make me at all happy without you. Love, which insists that love shall mutual be. LIES!
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