If songs are spoken, stormy loves are held in melancholy; thus all songs are in me, this Narcissus (mimic of Adonis, it could be) his fountain addressed with away, quadruped, you've waved aside with your caress the regret of water for the volitional. A mountebank by any scope, though reared by stars, this Narcissus speaks of the heights remembrance learned: recall none other haunt, Fountain, than this framed by my face, aye, this scope alone is free from songs by those who'd parrot sundry queans of Jove.
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