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SONGS OF A SAVOYARD
Observe his flame,
That placid dame,
The Moon's Celestial Highness;
There's not a trace
Upon her face
Of diffidence or shyness:
She borrows light
That, through the night.
Mankind may all acclaim her!
And, truth to tell,
She lights up well.
So I, for one, don't blame her!
Ah, pray make no mistake.
We are not shy;
We're very wide awake,
The Moon and I!
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