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Orchids

: Poems by Theodore Wratislaw
  

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46

HER FAULT

Dawn leads the sun, the winter spring;
Night brings the stars, the dew.
No night or day will ever bring
My love again to you.
No god can bid one vanished day,
One joy, one dream, return,
Alas! and we, ah wellaway!
Forget even while we yearn.
The same lips weary one to kiss,
The same words lose their spell.
You should have known the end was this:
You loved too much, too well!