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Lieto godea sedendo
L’aura che tremolando
Dolce spira l’aprile;
Ogn’hor sospira d’Amor ogn’animale
Con mortal dardo
Amor volando venn’ e’l cor mi punse
E lass’ oimè fugge meschino me
Onde n’havrò la morte
S’in lieta non si cangia la mia sorte.

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