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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 Oct 2008 10:03 PM | Viewed: 4953 times

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