  (In a Hospital) Why do I love thee?— Not because thy wak'ning lips Were wooed to bloom by minstrel wind Of Araby or Ind. Not because thy fragrance slips Into my soul—as if thou must Be sprung of a mother's dust. Not because she gave her breast To thee for one long night—she whose Pure heart I ne'er shall lose. But when I lay in sick unrest Afar from those who are my own, Thou camest from hands unknown: Therefore I love thee! |
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