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Louisa Sarah Bevington (Луиза Сара Бевингтон) At My Word I EVER said that I could pay high toll For some dear sake held worthy, utterly; It was the very hidden pride of me To rate as gift the greed of my poor soul. For lo! one day I seemed to near my goal, And--"Here," I said, "my gift may given be, For here is utmost sweet nobility, And I must love it: it shall have my whole." But, dear, such gift still savoured of my bliss, And you would have my love--for freedom--lie In sternest patience till its stress should die; For love's last proof, forbear, forget the kiss, And smile, forgetting. Ay, I do not sigh! Since this you will, my heart must grant you this! Louisa Sarah Bevington's other poems: Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1236 |
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