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The Poem-Book of the Gael

SHE

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The white bloom of the blackthorn, she, The small sweet raspberry-blossom, she; More fair the shy, rare glance of her eye, Than the wealth of the world to me. My heart's pulse, my secret, she, The flower of the fragrant apple, she; A summer glow o'er the winter's snow, 'Twixt Christmas and Easter, she.

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