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SONNET.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

SONNET.

And has my Errol then forgot
His Orra dear who loves to moan
From all apart—her every thought
Still fixt on him and him alone?
The violet o'er my mossy couch
Bares her blue bosom to the light,
The blossomed trees, at every touch,
Shower o'er my head their petals white.
But ah! I braid my auburn hair
And shade my zone with flowers in vain,
My heart will utter what is there
And tears unbidden speak its pain,
Flow on, my tears, ache still, my brow,
Ye fall and throb unheeded now.