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Poem by Francis Thompson


To Olivia


I fear to love thee, Sweet, because
Love's the ambassador of loss;
White flake of childhood, clinging so
To my soiled raiment, thy shy snow
At tenderest touch will shrink and go.
Love me not, delightful child.
My heart, by many snares beguiled,
Has grown timorous and wild.
It would fear thee not at all,
Wert thou not so harmless-small.
Because thy arrows, not yet dire,
Are still unbarbed with destined fire,
I fear thee more than hadst thou stood
Full-panoplied in womanhood. 



                      Francis Thompson


Francis Thompson's other poems:
  1. After Her Going
  2. A Girl's Sin - In Her Eyes
  3. A Carrier Song
  4. To A Poet Breaking Silence
  5. Gilded Gold


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