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1881.
NAY, never say thou lov'st but Yale,
Nor count thyself fair Harvard's foe;
While on thy cheek now red, now pale,
The crimson flashes to and fro
Like the aurora, or the trail
Of setting sunlight on the snow.
E'en at thy lips our standard flies,
The damask rose's blushing hues;
But, sweet, should'st thou neglect my sighs,
And crimson haughtily refuse,
The laughter sparkling in thine eyes
Would surely drive away the "Blues."
Let not the fading blue again,
Emblem of sadness, summon thee
To melancholy's wide domain,
But rather, sweetheart, choose with me
The hue of hope, of joy, of fame,
And glorious eternity.
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