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a web of many textures

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Brief, brief at best is all the love of man!
A word, a promise in a moment broke,
As evanescent as the wreathing smoke
That melts in air ere we its form may scan.” —
Nay, loved one, nay, speak not the cruel word,
For recently, when on the railway train,
My fleet thoughts fleeter flew to thee again,
And love for thee my heart's emotion stirred:
More ardent grew the faster that we flew,
And every mile the passion warmer burned,
And every mile my heart the fonder yearned
To pour for thee its offering warm and true.
Talk of the length of love! Why, all this while
My love you might have measured by the mile.