Love is the history of a woman's life; it is an episode in man's. I've wandered east, I've wandered west.
For life to come, is false to the past sweet. Over her warm cheek and rising bosom move the bloom of young desire and purple light of love. And thoughts of you, I do remember. Love leads to rapture, then into pain.
They sin who tell us Love can die. In least speak most, to my capacity.
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