.La fleur que tu m'avais jet,
Dans ma prison m'tait rest.
Fltrie et sche, cette fleur>Gardait toujours sa douce odeur;
Et pendant des heures entires,
Sur mes yeux, fermant mes paupires,
De cette odeur je m'enivrais
Et dans la nuit je te voyais!
Je me prenais te maudire,
Te .
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