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XIX.

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So bashful when I spied her,
So pretty, so ashamed !
So hidden in her leaflets,
Lest anybody find ;

So breathless till I passed her,
So helpless when I turned
And bore her, struggling, blushing,
Her simple haunts beyond !

For whom I robbed the dingle,
For whom betrayed the dell,
Many will doubtless ask me,
But I shall never tell !

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