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 I'll not weep that thou art going to leave me,
There's nothing lovely here;
And doubly will the dark world grieve me,
While thy heart suffers there.
I'll not weep, because the summer's glory Must always end in gloom; And, follow out the happiest story - It closes with a tomb! And I am weary of the anguish Increasing winters bear; Weary to watch the spirit languish Through years of dead despair.
So, if a tear, when thou art dying, Should haply fall from me, It is but that my soul is sighing, To go and rest with thee.

by Emily Bronte
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