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Inspiration

But great loves, to the last, have pulses red; all great loves that have ever died dropped dead.

The white moth to the closing vine, the bee to the open clover.
The heart, which others bleed for, bleed for me.

By heaven, I do love: and it hath taught me to rhyme, and to be melancholy.
The first crime compels us to do more.

She knew she was by him beloved, she knew.



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