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A night in June,
The pallid moon
Slows its weary pace,
That its light
Might trace, so bright,
The contours of your face.

I, breathless.
You, deathless.
Your hair, silken lace.
At once you run
(To have more fun!)
And I take up the chase.

When both we tire
Our passion, as fire
Warms the air round our place.
Then lay we down
Onto the ground
And let our love embrace.

--Basil Chamondeley

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