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Idles of March

By
What shall i compare to thee?
Thou art fairest
all hearts faint at decree
of thy name and breast.
Thou beam the top of happy hours
with smile worthy of regalia
scent of Rosey flowers
that linger in the farthest of Ithaca.
In thy eyes & words thou love
but thy stare& words beguile
for man's happiness do thy love remove
aching misery at every angle
Beware her ambitions lay of harsh
for thy love lead the idles of march!





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