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Where'ere I look, my darling Clarice,
I think of you. A flock of geese,
A lofty cloud, up in the skies,
Reminds me of your brownish eyes.
When in the woods I see a fawn,
I ponder on your hair of tawn.
Across the Iliac I sail
In every wave I never fail
To see you below, also above—
Oh barmaid Clarice, please be my love!
Georges Plouffe, First-Mate (get it?)