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The Poetry Pages

Love (4)

Must I alone sorrow,
Despairingly languish,
Breaks never a morrow
On the night of my anguish?
-- Mathilde Blind. In Spring.

Perhaps he has never turned my way,
Nor known how my heart would wait;
Perhaps he has sought me the whole long day,
And has failed at my very gate;
-- Edith Nesbit. A Life's Story.

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