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From the brake the Nightingale Sings exulting to the Rose; Though he sees her waxing pale In her passionate repose, While she triumphs waxing frail, Fading even while she glows; Though he knows How it goes - Knows of last year's Nightingale Dead with last year's Rose. Wise the enamoured Nightingale, Wise the well-beloved Rose! Love and life shall still prevail, Nor the silence at the close Break the magic of the tale In the telling, though it shows - Who but knows How it goes! - Life a last year's Nightingale, Love a last year's Rose.
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