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Song From Heine

I scanned her picture dreaming,
   Till each dear line and hue
Was imaged, to my seeming,
   As if it lived anew.
 
Her lips began to borrow
   Their former wondrous smile;
Her fair eyes, faint with sorrow,
   Grew sparkling as erstwhile.
 
Such tears as often ran not
   Ran then, my love, for thee;
And O, believe I cannot
   That thou are lost to me!
Otras obras de Thomas Hardy...



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