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* * * Oh, they have robbed me of the hope My spirit held so dear; They will not let me hear that voice My soul delights to hear. They will not let me see that face I so delight to see; And they have taken all thy smiles, And all thy love from me. Well, let them seize on all they can: -- One treasure still is mine, -- A heart that loves to think on thee, And feels the worth of thine. Anne Brontë's other poems:
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Английская поэзия. Адрес для связи eng-poetry.ru@yandex.ru |