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14
ENVY
To Charles Hiatt
“Making dead wood more blest than living lips”
If you and I could change, O violin,
If you in silence listened in my stead,
While I with brown light wooden body and head
Were clasped between her throat and rounded chin,
Then were I blest indeed: and she might win
From me such songs of love and sadness wed
That from her lids would tears of joy be shed
And all her soul meet mine shut close within.
If you in silence listened in my stead,
While I with brown light wooden body and head
Were clasped between her throat and rounded chin,
Then were I blest indeed: and she might win
From me such songs of love and sadness wed
That from her lids would tears of joy be shed
And all her soul meet mine shut close within.
So the gods laugh at Fate's ironic jest:
That I from far must gaze on her and sigh,
Whilst thou, rude block, by tender hands caressed,
By her breath touched, by her light fingers pressed,
Morose and heedless, sullenly may lie
How near the sweet white blossoms of her breast!
That I from far must gaze on her and sigh,
Whilst thou, rude block, by tender hands caressed,
By her breath touched, by her light fingers pressed,
Morose and heedless, sullenly may lie
How near the sweet white blossoms of her breast!
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