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All English Sonnets


I must not let the melancholy get,
A hold on me, at this unearthly hour,
And burden me with unavailing fret,
I must not let grey doubts come and spar,

with phantoms of my aspirations nor,
The fairies on my mental parapet,
Who still are either undecided or,
Who can not face the bile of vile regret,

Who just may give up hope, hating war,
And leaden indecision, I can bet,
Lest I can hold them back, chances are,
That they would tumble over, If I let,

This melancholy get a hold on me,
Then I would toss all night sleeplessly.

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