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Brackenham Church

By Norman Gale

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16

THE PROPOSAL

Why warm this bud with loving looks
Denied to me? Turn round and give
The friend that cannot change to flower
A moment sweet to live.
Along the woodland's wearying length
A dread was night, a hope was morn.
Believe me, turning is the rose,
Refusal is the thorn.
No! Not an inch, nor two, nor half,
But all; unless you darkly choose
To squander on that bud the face
My soul shall never lose!
I had not dreamed a maid could whirl
So stormily to dart the zest
Of lightning's sudden self, and tear
With joy her lover's breast.