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MY CHOICE.

VII.

Ah! poets sing Athenian girls

With gold cicalas in their curls,

And eyes like stars and teeth like pearls,

And necks like Parian stone.

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As far as I'm concerned, they may

Forever by Ilyssus stay,

Until their braided locks are gray,

And all their charms are flown.

VIII.

For have I not my Yankee maid,

The bud that blooms in woodland shade,

In spotless dimity arrayed,

To vie with Athens' best?

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