Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise.
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Fair winding up to where the Muses haunt
In Twit'nham bowers, and for their Pope implore.
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					RGB: 134 28 130
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					RGB: 251 176 64
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					RGB: 226 1 119
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					RGB: 193 216 47
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The glaring bale-fires blaze no more;
No longer steel-clad warriors ride
Along thy wild and willow'd shore.