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Poem	Lolotte, who attires my hair, Lost her lover. Lolotte weeps; Trails her hand before her eyes; Hangs her head and mopes and sighs, Mutters of the pangs of hell. Fills the circumambient air With her plaints and her despair. Looks at me: 'May you never know, Mam'selle Love's harsh cruelty.'
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