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 | The Poetical Works of Robert Browning |  |
He muses.
Oh, which were best, to roam or rest?The land's lap or the water's breast?
To sleep on yellow millet-sheaves,
Or swim in lucid shallows just
Eluding water-lily leaves,
An inch from Death's black fingers, thrust
To lock you, whom release he must;
Which life were best on Summer eves?
| The Poetical Works of Robert Browning | |