  Love is but a wind that blows Over waves, or fields of corn, Floating petals, falling snows, The swift passing of the dawn. These are all Love's signs, perchance, Floating, fragile, drifting things! Dead leaves are we in the dance, Moved by his unresting wings. Love is light within thine eyes, Dearest! Love is all thy tears. Let us for this hour be wise: What have we to hope from years? |
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