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Blackberries

by William Allingham
 
 

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[O girl of comely form and face]
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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[O girl of comely form and face]

O girl of comely form and face,
Were half the sweetness and the grace
Within thy soul, how precious thou!
Mere lovely cloud or blossom now.
Ungrateful! when such dear delight
Flows to me from her very sight.
And can I see her soul aright?
God's index we must never slight.

58

Yet, stay: how much is drawn from race?
How much to culture should we trace?
How much is bloom of health and youth?
How much her own, in deepest truth?
And what do all these questions prove?
This plainly—you are not in love
With Fiordilisa; else, I swear,
You'd find her past expression fair;
And how or why, would nothing care.