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O Nightingale! thou surely artA Creature of a fiery heart—These notes of thine they pierce, and pierce;Tumultuous harmony and fierce!Thou sing'st as if the God of wineHad help'd thee to a Valentine;A song in mockery and despiteOf shades, and dews, and silent Night,And steady bliss, and all the LovesNow sleeping in these peaceful groves!
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