I got me flowers to strew thy way:

I got me boughs off many a tree:

But thou wast up by break of day,

And brought'st thy sweets along with thee.

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The sun arising in the East,

Though he give light, and th'East perfume;

If they should offer to contest

With thy arising, they presume.

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Can there be any day but this,

Though many suns to shine endeavour?

We count three hundred, but we miss:

There is but one, and that one ever.

                                                                                              George Herbert

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