- cid
- bafkreiazvxb4vnluamh7jlqnmylkfxm4dqvm4agrq6d2m2wslgi4gs4pre
- content_type
- image/jpeg
- filename
- 06_poems_pericles_facsimiles_1905_oxford_page_0394.jpg
- height
- 2400
- key
- pdf-page-1769752492175-3k4swljx63
- ocr_model
- mistral-ocr-latest
- page_number
- 394
- size
- 148424
- text
- 
Cleare we's spring not, fweere birds sing not,
Greene plants being not tortis their die,
Heards stands weeping flocks all sleeping,
Nymphes blacke peeping fearefully:
All our pleasure knowne to vspore Swainne
All our merrie meetings on the plaines,
All our evening sport from wn tled,
All our loue is loft, for loue is dead,
Farewell sweet loue thy like nere was,
For afweet content the cause of all my woe,
Poore Coridon mutl hue alone,
Orbet helpe for hun I see that there is none.
- text_extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T06:17:33.869Z
- text_extracted_by
- ocr-service
- text_has_content
- true
- text_images_count
- 2
- text_source
- ocr
- uploaded
- true
- width
- 1750