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nineteen eleven
The Sighs of a Love-Sick Freshman
		
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I.   Sigh softly ye breezes of evening's glow.
Sing softly your anthems as onward you go, Across the green woodlands, beneath a clear sky, Lest ever fair Mary should heed your wild cry.
II.   Ye brooklets that flow over pebbles and stones, Lisp gently your soft-sounding, babbling tones. As down 11 io green hills of great majesties' pride Like a streamlet of silver thou ever dost glide.
III.   May never the storm clouds their shadows congeal. Their terrors and gloomings on earth to reveal. Where Alary, love's Empress, may happen to be, But ever, instead, may sunshine she see.
IX.   Ye wild, whistling ravens from your shadowy glen. Ye bats and lone owls from your dark, shady den, Come not to the realm where Mary may be, But keep your wild haunts in night's lonely tree.
V.    For my Mary would weep to hear your lone call.
And ne'er on such souls should your weird wailings fall; Ye nightingales fond, with your melodies sweet, O'er Mary's fair chamber your chantings repeat.
VI.   When the moon in soft splendor has climbed in the sky. And slumber's sweet siren has closed her fair eye, Above her while pillow, where moonbeams may gleam. Sing softly that fairer may be her sweet dream.
VII.   While memories range through the realm of this soul. And sunshine and shadow with the seasons may roll. May Mary, fair Mary, "the queen of my dreams," Find pleasures as real as old ocean's great streams.
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