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TOO COLD, O my brother, too cold for my wife Is the Beauty you showed me this morning: Nor yet have I found the sweet dream of my life, And good-bye to the sneering and scorning. Would you have me cast down in the dark of her frown, Like others who bend at her shrine; And would barter their souls for a statue-like face, And a heart that can never be mine? That can never be theirs nor mine.
Go after her, look at her, kneel at her feet, |