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It Nods and Curtseys and Recovers

 It nods and curtseys and recovers 
When the wind blows above, 
The nettle on the graves of lovers 
That hanged themselves for love.
The nettle nods, the wind blows over, The man, he does not move, The lover of the grave, the lover That hanged himself for love.

by A E Housman
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