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						Eel-Grass by Edna St. Vincent Millay 
						
						No matter what I say, All that I really love Is the rain that flattens on the bay, And the eel-grass in the cove; The jingle-shells that lie and bleach At the tide-line, and the trace Of higher tides along the beach: Nothing in this place.						 
						
						
						
						
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