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Literature Text
She among the grass did briefly dwell,
The White Lady, Forerunner of the North Wind,
But she is the end of Autumn's gold.
Her touch is ice. Her kiss is cold.
I will greet her with fire in my hands,
And whisky in my mouth.
The White Lady, Forerunner of the North Wind,
But she is the end of Autumn's gold.
Her touch is ice. Her kiss is cold.
I will greet her with fire in my hands,
And whisky in my mouth.
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