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I. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
V. |
VI. |
VII. |
VIII. |
IX. |
X. |
XI. |
XII. |
XIII. |
XIV. |
XV. |
XVI. |
XVII. |
XVIII. |
XIX. |
XX. |
XXI. |
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XXIII. |
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XXVII. |
XXVIII. |
XXIX. |
XXX. |
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XXXII. |
XXXIII. |
XXXIV. |
XXXV. |
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XXXVII. |
XXXVIII. |
XXXIX. |
XL. |
XLI. |
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XLIII. |
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XLV. |
XLVI. |
XLVII. |
XLVIII. |
XLIX. |
L. |
LI. |
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![]() | The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere | ![]() |
XIII.
Let me be near thee, and I will not touchThy hand; or grieve thee with reproach or praise;
Or look into thine eyes. Is this too much?
Sweet Lady, say not so, for I would gaze
On thee for ever. Be but what thou art,
A Beauty shrined within a silver haze;
And in the silence let me fill my heart
With memories calmly stored for wintry days.
O Lady! there is sorrow here below;
And gladness seldom comes, and cannot last:
Thou art all summer: thou wilt never know
The cold and cloudy skies which I forecast:
Deny not thou long years of future woe
Their comfort sad and sole—a happy Past.
![]() | The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere | ![]() |