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I love you.
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I love you, Toots.
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will you confess this in a letter
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you must write immediately and do
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all you can to console me in it,
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make it rich as a draft of poppies to intoxicate me,
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write the softest words and kiss them
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that I may at least touch my lips where yours have been.
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My dear Mr. Keats, thank you for your letter.
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Lately I have felt so nervous and ill
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that I had to stay five days in bed.
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Having received your letter, I am up again,