Upon these lips.

Upon these lips I'll tarry, Sway in airs upon this crimson ledge, Â Â Â
Let fly these given arrows, rain a volley down upon thy head, Â Â Â Â Â
Until this quiver holes up dry and in retreat, admit my folley,Â
One arrow left, twas all I needed, limp in vane, crested 'sorry'.
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