  If you were mine—(for all the little flowers That see you, weary of their innocence)— If prayers that have been pale with penitence Grew purple with our passion, all the hours From sun to sun would be unique with bliss, Little red mouth that is not mine to kiss! You are not mine and you will never be, And so I am magnanimous, I give My love and you to Time, and you shall live Bride of his avid passion. I will see The moon of all this lure and beauty set, And I will turn from you and quite forget. PERVANCHE |
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