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The Constant Lover Out upon it, I have lov'd Three whole days together; And am like to love three more, If it prove fair weather. Time shall molt away his wings Ere he shall discover In such whole wide world again Such a constant lover. But the spite on't is, no praise Is due at all to me: Love with me had made no stays Had it any been but she. Had it any been but she And that very face, There had been at least ere this A dozen dozen in her place. John Suckling's other poems: Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1396 |
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