  Far away is close at hand, Close joined is far away, Love might come at your command Yet will not stay. At summons of your dream-despair She could not disobey, But slid close down beside you there And complaisant lay. Yet now her flesh and blood consent In waking hours of day, Joy and passion both are spent, Fading clean away. Is the presence empty air, Is the spectre clay, That Love, lent substance by despair, Wanes, and leaves you lonely there On the bridal day? |
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