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What cruel answer have I heard !
And yet, by heaven, I love thee still:
Can aught be cruel from thy lip ?
Yet say, how fell that bitter word
From lips which streams of sweetness fill,
Which nought but drops of honey sip ?
Go boldly forth, my simple lay,
Whose accents flow with artless ease,
Like orient pearls at random strung:
Thy notes are sweet, the damsels say;
But O ! far sweeter, if they please
The nymph for whom these notes are sung.
