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Ask yourself, my love, whether you are not
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very cruel to have so untrammeled me,
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so destroyed my freedom.
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For myself, I know not how to express
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my devotion to so fair a form.
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I want a brighter word than bright, a fairer word than fair.
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I almost wish we were butterflies
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and lived but three summer days.
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Three such days with you I could fill with more delight
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than 50 common years could ever contain.
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I love you.
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I love you, Toots.