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Grapes
by
Hubert Parry
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Come, boy Bacchus, a bunch of grapes The bunch you dearest treasure ! 'Twill fill my soul with exquisite shapes For well I know the pleasure Of a rich ripe grape slow pressed in the mouth Bringing me dreams of the lusty South Of sunbrown youth And sun-bright maiden And all a laughing And all a laden With grapes, grapes, grapes, grapes Beyond all measure ! And all a laughing And all a laden With grapes, grapes, grapes Beyond all measure
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