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With when the night’s cold air, Woeful Zephyr blows.
How tall a god, how mortal a blow to be fell!
Pierced through the heart, as the ice’d diction of his sighs bellow to say,
Caressed by his breath, mine own heart can eb and fall like the wind.
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With when the Moon’s bleak glare, Woeful Zephyr bays,
As the wolf howls for home, he pleas to be let go.
Shivering now from his own doing,
I pounce on the gale and say, “Timid, turn’d Zephyr,
Fell from the sky with whence you rule,
Thoust scream’d and cry’d like a fool."
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