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II. |
III. |
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XXVIII. |
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XXX. |
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XXXIII. |
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XXXVII. |
XXXVIII. |
XXXIX. |
XL. |
XLI. |
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XLIII. |
XLIV. |
XLV. |
XLVI. |
XLVII. |
XLVIII. |
XLIX. |
L. |
LI. |
LII. |
LIII. |
LIV. |
LV. |
LVI. |
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![]() | The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston | ![]() |
316
III.
“Look at me once again,” she pleaded yet;
“Come thou with me, and be no more alone;
Why should thy heart perpetually make moan?”
She took my hand. Then, being so beset,
I spoke no word, but turned, and our eyes met.
My blood leaped in me, as a flame wind-blown.
“Call me again,” she said, “thy very own,
And teach thy heart its sorrow to forget.”
“Come thou with me, and be no more alone;
Why should thy heart perpetually make moan?”
She took my hand. Then, being so beset,
I spoke no word, but turned, and our eyes met.
My blood leaped in me, as a flame wind-blown.
“Call me again,” she said, “thy very own,
And teach thy heart its sorrow to forget.”
I gazed, and gazing saw that she was fair,
And full of grace; but while I looked, behold
Her beauty like a robe fell from her there,
And left her standing, wrinkled, lean, and old;
“Go hence,” I cried, “base mother of sins untold,
And leave my soul its undefiled despair.”
And full of grace; but while I looked, behold
Her beauty like a robe fell from her there,
And left her standing, wrinkled, lean, and old;
“Go hence,” I cried, “base mother of sins untold,
And leave my soul its undefiled despair.”
![]() | The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston | ![]() |