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1051 I cannot meet the Spring unmoved— I feel the old desire— A Hurry with a lingering, mixed, A Warrant to be fair— A Competition in my sense With something hid in Her— And as she vanishes, Remorse I saw no more of Her. Edited by Peter Carter
Added: 2 Apr 2003 | Last Read: 7 Jun 2025 4:31 PM | Viewed: 7975 times
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