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King Midas took delight
In golden vessels bright,
And yellow bars of ore he found most fair;
But he had never seen
The dancing, glancing sheen
Of sunlight on your dark and fragrant hair.


His wealth could buy him wine
Made from the purple vine
And sweet as all the blossom-breathing South;
But he could never slake
His thirst, nor ease the ache
Of his hot lips at your love-pliant mouth.