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Her Muffe

Rating: 2.5
Twas not for some calm blessing to deceive,
Thou didst thy polish'd hands in shagg'd furs weave;
It were no blessing thus obtain'd;
Thou rather would'st a curse have gain'd,
Then let thy warm driven snow be ever stain'd.

Not that you feared the discolo'ring cold
Might alchymize their silver into gold;
Nor could your ten white nuns so sin,
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Susan Williams 09 September 2016
Okay, I'm going to have to read this again. And possibly again. My eyes are closing, my head is nodding- -nut not because of this poem- -I just need a nap after getting up so early this morning. Be back later.
1 0 Reply
Stephen W 09 September 2016
Thanks, Richard, for sharing your fine poem. Keep on writing; -) You'll get the hang of it eventually.
0 0 Reply
Gangadharan Nair Pulingat 09 September 2016
Thanks for sharing such a old poem from a great poet.
0 0 Reply
Mizzy ........ 09 September 2016
Great poem....Thanks for sharing!
1 0 Reply
Subhas Chandra Chakra 09 September 2016
This for lay-lovers, that must stand at dore, Salute the threshold, and admire no more; But I, in my invention tough, Rate not this outward bliss enough, But still contemplate must the hidden muffe. Good and enjoyable. Nice stanza. Thanks for sharing.
0 0 Reply
Edward Kofi Louis 09 September 2016
To salute the threshold! ! Thanks for sharing this poem with us.
2 1 Reply

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