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All the birds in the forest they bitterly weep
Saying, "Where shall we shelter, where shall we sleep?"
You shine where you stand and the more I think on you
the more I think long If I had you now as I had once before
I can't reach you here
so far away from dear
fence back the thoughts
my hope once got
come back from the start
taking down this very heart
not when and how
but right and now
If I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine, the gentle sin is this. let lips do what hands do. (R'J)
Some love too little, some too long, Some sell, and others buy / Some do the deed with many tears, And some without a sigh: / For each man kills the thing he loves, Yet each man does not die.