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George Herbert
O who will give me tears? Come, all ye springs, Dwell in my head and eyes; come, clouds and rain; My grief hath need of all the watery things That nature hath produced: let every vein Suck up a river to supply mine eyes, My weary weeping eyes, too dry for me, Unless they get new conduits, new supplies, To bear them out, and with my state agree.
topics: grief  
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