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By
I attended you a daylight past,
A spring day on a knoll.
And for your absence grew steadfast
A grievance mine, a dole.

The sun, it seemed, contended so
An end effectuated.
And yet, my mind would rove, and lo,
Endeavored you belated.

The stars I could not call contrite;
They came without a lapse.
What followed, dark, and then the night,
And little of perhaps.

But my conviction strong purveyed
And come to me, I covet.
And in your arms I quickly bade;
The world, I thought not of it.





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