Aubade
«William Shakespeare»
HARK! hark! the lark
at heaven's gate sings,
And Phoebus 'gins
arise,
His steeds to water at those springs
On chaliced flowers
that lies;
And winking Mary-buds begin
To ope their golden
eyes:
With everything that pretty bin,
My lady sweet,
arise!
Arise, arise!
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