  If one should tell you that in such a spring The hawthorn boughs into the blackbird’s nest Poured poison, or that once at harvesting The ears were stony, from so manifest Slander of proven faith in tree and corn You would turn unheeding, knowing him forsworn. Yet now, when one whose life has never known Corruption, as you know: whose days have been As daily tidings in your heart of lone And gentle courage, suffers the word unclean Of envious tongues, doubting you dare not cry— “I have been this man’s familiar, and you lie.” |
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