IX.
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cannot tell; I wish I could;For the true reason no one knows,But if you’d gladly view the spot,The spot to which she goes;The heap that’s like an infant’s grave,The pond--and thorn, so old and grey,Pass by her door--’tis seldom shut--And if you see her in her hut,Then to the spot away!--I never heard of such as dareApproach the spot when she is there.
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