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when in April the sweet showers fall and pierce the drought of March to the root, and all the veins are bathed in liquor of the flower, when also Zephyrus with his sweet breath exhales an air in every grove and heath upon the tender shoots, and the young sun his half-course in the sign of the Ram has run, and the small fowl are making melody that sleep away the night with open eye (so nature pricks them and their heart engages)

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