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The roses that my brain? surround Were natives of the dale; Scarce pluck’d, and in a garland bound? Before their hue grew pale My trial? unclear would thus be froze If unclear torn from thee For what the road? is to the rose My Emma is to me Two doves I found like new fallen snow So white the beautious? pair The birds on Emma I’ll bestow They’re like her unclear fair May they of our connubial love A happy omen be And such unclear May Emma share with me