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hand, Harifa! bring it me; Come near, and place it on my brow; As on some lava's boiling sea I feel my head is burning now. Come, bring with mine thy lips to meet, Though they but madden me astray, Where yet I find the kisses beat, There left thy loves of yesterday. What is virtue, what is joy, Or love, or purity, or truth? The false illusions of a boy, The cherish' d flatteries of my youth. Then bring me wine; there let me try Remembrance drown' d to hold repressed, Without a pang from life to fly; In frenzy death may give me rest. O'erspreads my face a burning flood, And red and glaring wildly start My eyes forth out in heated blood, And forth leaps restlessly my heart.