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Sonnet. Inscribed To Her Grace The Duchess Of Devonshire

Rating: 2.7

'TIS NOT thy flowing hair of orient gold,
Nor those bright eyes, like sapphire gems that glow;
Nor cheek of blushing rose, nor breast of snow,
The varying passions of the heart could hold:

Those locks, too soon, shall own a silv'ry ray,
Those radiant orbs their magic fires forego;
Insatiate TIME shall steal those tints away,
Warp thy fine form, and bend thy beauties low:

But the rare wonders of thy polish'd MIND
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COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Brian Jani 29 May 2014

Nice work Mary I love this poem

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