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The Soul’s Delight

The Soul’s Delight
 
I have bled upon your thorns, O rose
For the way to your heart is bramble-strewn
But then such beauty, I suppose
May be likened to the inconstant moon.
 
I have known you as I have known the thorn
And the sweetness of a woman’s breath,
Seen beauty from desire born
And heard her sigh at the time of death.
 
Though winter comes to strip you clean
Of all but barren thorn and stem
Apparelled in your dress of green
Spring shall return your diadem.
 
But the eyes of children, fire-bright,
See in you the soul’s delight.

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