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" Come, rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer, Though the herd have fled from thee, thy home is still here ; Here still is the smile, that no cloud can o'ercast, And a heart and a hand all thy own to the last. Oh ! what was love made for, if 'tis not... "
The Works of Thomas Moore: Irish melodies. National airs - Page 161
by Thomas Moore - 1823
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Literary Theory and Criticism

Edgar Allan Poe, Leonard Cassuto - Literary Criticism - 1999 - 193 pages
...more, and in more passionate, human hearts than any other single sentiment ever embodied in words: Come, rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer. Though...still is the smile that no cloud can o'ercast, And a heart and a hand all thy own to the last. Oh! what was love made for. if 'tis not the same Through...
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