I sometimes think that never blows so redThe Rose as where some buried Caesar bled

I sometimes think that never blows so redThe Rose as where some buried Caesar bled

That every Hyacinth the Garden wearsDropt in its Lap from some once lovely Head.
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I sometimes think that never blows so redThe Rose as where some buried Caesar bled

That every Hyacinth the Garden wearsDropt in its Lap from some once lovely Head.
Save QuoteView Quote
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