The Poet to His Wife
( " Oh! qui que vous soyez. " )
Whoe'er you be, send blessings to her — she
Was sister of my soul immortal, free!
My pride, my hope, my shelter, my resource,
When green hoped not to grey to run its course;
She was enthroned Virtue under heaven's dome,
My idol in the shrine of curtained home.
Whoe'er you be, send blessings to her — she
Was sister of my soul immortal, free!
My pride, my hope, my shelter, my resource,
When green hoped not to grey to run its course;
She was enthroned Virtue under heaven's dome,
My idol in the shrine of curtained home.
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