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It is difficult to predict human feelings
I'm a coward. I succumbed to jealousy and now it eats my heart.
Springtime is upon us. The birds celebrate her return with festive song, and murmuring streams are softly caressed by the breezes
The peasant celebrates with song and dance the harvest safely gathered in. The cup of Bacchus flows freely, and many find their relief in deep slumber
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