One Poem by John Vance Cheney
One
ONE whitest lily, reddest rose,
None other such the summer knows;
Of bird or brook one perfect tune,
And sung is all the sweet of June.
Once come and gone, the one dear face,
Forever empty is its place;
But one far voice the lover hears,
Calling across the waste of years.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
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4/26/2024 4:05:04 PM # 1.0.0.1119
