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Although I wait, my body silent, still; I cannot call it patience that I feel - A still body belies an active will, And hopeful anticipation my real occupation is. These days that are weeks. I wait for you, heart as full as the moon. While active mind her white stillness seeks, my voice repeats absent Love's hungry tune. Patience, I am told, would some relief give, If I would but learn and practice the art; But in stillness, sweet memories I relive And sweeter fantasy o'erfills my heart. Soon, and sooner still, return and end this test! Then, and only then, with patience spurned, I rest.
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