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Ce que vivent les Roses.
The stream, that flows for ever,
Whispered to the daffodil,
“Would you not be as the river,
Ever living, ever flowing,
Never fading, never knowing
Death the chill?”
Whispered to the daffodil,
“Would you not be as the river,
Ever living, ever flowing,
Never fading, never knowing
Death the chill?”
But the daffodil made answer,
“I have lived one day of Spring,
When the wind with me was dancer;—
Oh, the brightness! Oh, the fleetness!
Oh, the rapture! What more sweetness
Could life bring?”
“I have lived one day of Spring,
When the wind with me was dancer;—
Oh, the brightness! Oh, the fleetness!
Oh, the rapture! What more sweetness
Could life bring?”
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