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| Come slowly, 
			Eden Lips unused to thee. Bashful, sip thy jasmines, As the fainting bee, Reaching late his flower, Round her chamber hums, Counts his nectars -alights, And is lost in balms! | 
| Love is, above all, the gift of oneself. - Jean Anouilh, When I am sad and 
			weary. When I think all hope has gone.  Those have most power to hurt us that we love. - Francis Beaumont | 
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| Copyright © Paul Ward 2000 - 2012 |