A SLAVE OF FREEDOM

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The Night slips his arm about the Moon

And walks till the skies grow gray;

But my Love, when I speak of love,

Has never a word to say.

I set my dreams at her feet as lamps

For which all my hope must pay;

But my Love, when I speak of love,

Has never a word to say.

I fill her hands with a gleaming soul

For her plaything night and day;

But she, when I speak to her of love,

Has never a word to say.

I give my life, which is hers to kill

Or to keep with her alway;

And still, when I speak to her of love,

She’s never a word to say.

The Night slips his arm about the Moon

And walks till the skies grow gray;

But my Love, when I speak of love,

Has never a word to say.


                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

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