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The Poetical Works of Elizabeth Barrett Browning
img img The Poetical Works of Elizabeth Barrett Browning img Chapter 388 No.388
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Chapter 388 No.388

Or at least I thought so, purely; thought no idiot Hope was raising

Any crown to crown Love's silence, silent Love that sate alone:

Out, alas! the stag is like me, he that tries to go on grazing

With the great deep gun-wound in his neck, then reels with sudden moan.

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