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ANATKH.

THE brook must seek the river,

And the river seek the sea;

The mountain peak must wildly shriek,

As the wind howls mournfully.

The birds must turn their flight

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When the leaves have strewn the ground;

The buds must creep from winter sleep,

When they hear the May-wind's sound.

The love-prone heart must throb

When a beauty's face is seen:

For small and great are led by fate -

So I to thee, my queen!

M.

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