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Poem	The Rose did caper on her cheek -- Her Bodice rose and fell -- Her pretty speech -- like drunken men -- Did stagger pitiful -- Her fingers fumbled at her work -- Her needle would not go -- What ailed so smart a little Maid -- It puzzled me to know -- Till opposite -- I spied a cheek That bore another Rose -- Just opposite -- Another speech That like the Drunkard goes -- A Vest that like her Bodice, danced -- To the immortal tune -- Till those two troubled -- little Clocks Ticked softly into one.
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