Is bubbling o'er with jollity.
He hands my folded paper back,
Remarking, "Though we all may know
Your theme's as old as R me itself,
We can't take this for Cicero."
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What! "Lines to Lucy's Nut-brown Hair."
That's lain perdu since last July;
I wrote it for that little flirt
I met last summer down at Rye.