We May Love
From the withered, bitter ground
Every sweet has taken leave?
Joy, there's none of sight or sound,
Naught to do but sit and grieve?
Look — the blue! bent close above,
Close above;
While it hovers we may love
Every sweet has taken leave?
Joy, there's none of sight or sound,
Naught to do but sit and grieve?
Look — the blue! bent close above,
Close above;
While it hovers we may love
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