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at the æstival solstice
the heat will rush right to my head
it's not enough that you're right here
i fear the times when you're not near
awakening i feel doom and dread
my bed seems turned into a bier
the heat will rush right to my head
above us a clear sky's been spread
the green below is what seems queer
this still point of the speeding year
the heat will rush right to my head