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SONGS OF LA MOUCHE

Thin rain drifts across the pavement;
Love confessed
Burns, an intermittent fever,
In my breast.
Hours of joy bring nights of sorrow:
I am very tired—to-morrow
Let me rest.

Will the weariness and aching
Never cease?
Shall I never from my hunger
Gain release?
Grant to-night I may be taken,
Sleep and nevermore awaken,
Sleep in peace.

Paris, February, 1856.

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