O how I feel, just as I pluck the flower
And stick it to my breast - words can't reveal;
But there are souls that in this lovely hour
Know all I mean, and feel whate'er I feel. (John Clare)

O how I feel, just as I pluck the flower And stick it to my breast - words can't reveal; But there are souls that in this lovely hour Know all I mean, and feel whate'er I feel.

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