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The Lost Word

High above a waveless sea,
On the hills of long ago.
There you lived awhile with me.
And we loved—I know.
 
For your hair I made a crown,
Twined it with these hands of mine,
Sun-warmed leaves and tendrils brown,
From the happy vine.
 
You were like some woodland thing,
Fear and rapture in your eyes,
Tender as a breath of Spring
Blown from April skies.
 
Then I called you, and you heard.
To your lover’s arms you came:
Ah! what was that magic word.
Your forgotten name!
Autres oeuvres par Radclyffe Hall...



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