Wenn meine Augen Unkruter sind und meine Lippen die Blumenbltter sind und spinnen hinunter den Wind, der den Beginn hat, wo die zerknitterten Buchen in einer Franse der salzigen Schilfe beginnen; Wenn meine Arme ltest-Bsche sind und die rangy Flieder aufwrts drckt, aufwrts durch mein Herz;
Sommer, tun Ihr schlechtestes! Ihren Filterstreifenmond beleuchten, und um Ihre durchfhrenden Sterne ersuchen, um Headlong durch Ihren Papierhimmel an zu fallen; Nevermore wird I durch ein spltes und amorous slattern verflucht, wenn das Muster ihrer staubigen Spitzee schleppt, wie sie vorbei straggles.
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