Whether I loved you who shall say?
Whether I drifted down your way
In the endless River of Chance and Change,
And you woke the strange
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Who does not feel desire unending
To solace through his daily strife,
With some mysterious Mental Blending,
The hungry loneliness of life?
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Song by Valgovind
The fields are full of Poppies, and the skies are very blue,
By the Temple in the coppice, I wait, Beloved, for you.
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Do you ever think of me? you who died
Ere our Youth's first fervour chilled,
With your soft eyes and your pulses stilled
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When I am dying, lean over me tenderly, softly,
Stoop, as the yellow roses droop in the wind from the South.
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Beloved! your hair was golden
As tender tints of sunrise,
As corn beside the River
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Ah, the cool silence of the shaded hours,
The scent and colour of the jungle flowers!
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I, who of lighter love wrote many a verse,
Made public never words inspired by thee,
Lest strangers' lips should carelessly rehearse
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Give me your self one hour; I do not crave
For any love, or even thought, of me.
Come, as a Sultan may caress a slave
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