John William Inchbold

(1830-1888 / England)

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A Stranger

Whence hither come, and by what fortune led?
To bring such sweet content, such happy rest,
Have we not clear and mutual knowledge fed
In some far time or place? Come, let us test:
You list when groves a summer music breathe,
You think pure thoughts when white clouds sail the sky:
The violet is fairest in the wreath
Wherewith you deck love's years as they go by,
You smile at fruitless joys, though passing fair

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