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O for a beaker full of the warm south
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full of the true, the blushful hippocrene
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with beaded bubbles winking at the brim
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and purple- stained mouth
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that I might drink, and leave the world unseen
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and with thee fade away into the forest dim
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Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget
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what thou among the leaves hast never known
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The weariness, the fever, and the fret
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here, where men sit and hear each other groan
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Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs
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where youth grows pale, and specter- thin, and dies