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 | The poems of Madison Cawein |  |
XXIII
And I had read, read to the bitter end;Half hearing lone surmises of the rain
And trouble of the wind. At last I rose
And went to Gwendolyn. She did not know
The kiss I gave her had a shudder in it;
Nor how the form of Julien rose between
Me and her lips, a blood-stain o'er his heart.
| The poems of Madison Cawein | |