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Essential Oils—are wrung—
The Attar from the Rose
Be not expressed by Suns—alone—
It is the gift of Screws—
The General Rose—decay—
But this—in Lady's Drawer
Make Summer—When the Lady lie
In Ceaseless Rosemary—
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
.........a beautiful capturing the essence of summer ★