The Dying Flame
Again my lamp is burning dim,
Again the weary wick I trim,
And yet my sweet delays.
By the great queen of love she swore
To-night would see her at my door
But now she heedless stays.
Ah, would the flame that burns my breast
Might with my lamp sink soft to rest!
Again the weary wick I trim,
And yet my sweet delays.
By the great queen of love she swore
To-night would see her at my door
But now she heedless stays.
Ah, would the flame that burns my breast
Might with my lamp sink soft to rest!
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