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gracious rain caressed the fields To bountiful increase, Profusion reigned throughout the land, And, on the borders, peace.

Yet, in the streets, the people cried "It is a shameful thing, Now all the Gods are more than kind, This madness of the King."

A gipsy-girl his heart ensnares, And all his days and nights Are spent, unmindful of the State, In profitless delights.

The Maharani sits alone, Her lashes wet with tears, While all the pearls and gems of state Her gipsy rival wears.

In vain they bring her silken robes, In vain her maidens sing, She will but sigh, "When shall I see The beauty of the king?"

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