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ADONIS
Can it be that birds will sing,
Though Adonis die?
Never earthly bloom, I wis,
With his beauty could compare;
Never voice was sweet as his
Who lieth there;
And, thou blue Idalian sky,
Thou did'st smile upon our lot,
And I knew my love must die,—
But believed it not!
Whither now to take my way?
If I seek on mountains bare,
Or in caverns hid from day,—
Shall I find him there?
Will the rivers give him back,
Or the woods of Adon tell?
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