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■ The oak
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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2005-10-19 | [This text should be read in romana] | Submited by Ionescu Bogdan
Sleep! sleep! beauty bright,
Dreaming o'er the joys of night; Sleep! sleep! in thy sleep Little sorrows sit and weep. Sweet Babe, in thy face Soft desires I can trace, Secret joys and secret smiles, Little pretty infant wiles. As thy softest limbs I feel, Smiles as of the morning steal O'er thy cheek, and o'er thy breast Where thy little heart does rest. O! the cunning wiles that creep In thy little heart asleep. When thy little heart does wake Then the dreadful lightnings break, From thy cheek and from thy eye, O'er the youthful harvests nigh. Infant wiles and infant smiles Heaven and Earth of peace beguiles.
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