it is from silence, verse,
a wolf wished out of sleep
follow, Shepherd, with an elegy,
brief as epitaph, to Repose
think you gladness knows its parts?
Gladness, spacious as your pastures?
Ulysses, me!, you, Shepherd, do feign --
what does a shepherd know of shores?
nymphs upon sunrise primly depart,
and meadows are purer, by twice, for human step
Phoebus all golden hangs above and pursues you,
Shepherd, companied heavenly!, with praise
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You live life beyond your PC. So now Windows goes beyond your PC.
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