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The Literary Gazette, 12th May 1827, page 300
SONG.
She took a flower, and plucked the leaves,
Then flung them in the wine;
And ever thus, she said, at first
The hopes of young love shine.
The cup is drained: amid the dregs
The leaves pale scentless lie;
And ever thus, she said, at last
The hopes of young love die.
