What merit have the Tune
No Breakfast if it guaranty
The Rose content may bloom
To gain renown of Lady’s Drawer
But if the Lady come
But once a Century, the Rose
Superfluous become—
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I know a place where summer strives
She each year leads her daisies back,Recording briefly, ‘Lost.’But when the south wind stirs the poolsAnd struggles in the lanes,Her heart misgives her for her vow,And she pours soft refrainsInto the lap of adamant,And spices, and the dew,That stiffens quietly to quartzUpon her amber shoe.
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What rosy faceHas lost a blush today?I found her—’pleiad’—in the woodsAnd bore her safe away.Robins, in the traditionDid cover such with leaves,But which the cheek—And which the pallMy scrutiny deceives.
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Just one time!Charged us to forget Him—But we couldn’t learn!Were Himself—such a Dunce—What would we—do?Love the dull lad—best—Oh, wouldn’t you?
I measure every Grief I meet
I wonder if It weighs like Mine–Or has an Easier size.I wonder if They bore it long–Or did it just begin–I could not tell the Date of Mine–It feels so old a pain–I wonder if it hurts to live–And if They have to try–And whether–could They choose between–It would not be–to die–I note that Some–gone…
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A little Brig I knew—o’ertook by Blast—It spun—and spun—And groped delirious, for Morn—It slipped—and slipped—As One that drunken—stept—Its white foot tripped—Then dropped from sight—Ah, Brig—Good NightTo Crew and You—The Ocean’s Heart too smooth—too Blue—To break for You—
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Land—by the Oceans passed.Transport—by throe—Peace—by its battles told—Love, by Memorial Mold—Birds, by the Snow.