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 | The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston |  |
58
WAITING.
When shall I see that land where I would tread;That shrine where I would fain bow knee and head?
In autumn — ere the autumn pass, I said;
In winter — ere the winter-time is sped;
In spring — ere yet spring's fair sweet feet are fled;
In summer — ere the summer-time is shed, —
And now I say, perchance when I am dead.
| The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston | |