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The Poetical Works of Elizabeth Barrett Browning
img img The Poetical Works of Elizabeth Barrett Browning img Chapter 113 No.113
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Chapter 113 No.113

Then the boy wept aloud; 't was a fair sight yet sad

To see the tears run down the sweet blooms he had:

He stamped with his foot, said-"The saints know I lied

Because truth that is wicked is fittest to hide:

Must I utter it, mother?"

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