| http://www.w3.org/ns/prov#value | - 'Twas the Spring in the air And a laughter that ranOver Moina's black hair To the heart of a man;With the thorn-bush in leaf And the wet clover green --Och, April, you thief, Is it love that you mean?'Twas her mother's white goat On the side of the hillAnd the rain on my coat With the sun laughing still,And the thought of her eyes -- Sure, my heart is a gift,In the black of surprise, When her eyel
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