Rondeaus For Claribel In Distress.

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Always, for ever mine! Her mother brow,
Before her kisses, told me; and her low
Ravishing voice, and those dear fluttering doves
She calls her eyes, and all the tender loves
That breathe in every dimple a shy vow.

Yet, and to-day! she doubts. “This bird, this bough,
This song: will they endure if passion go?
Will it be summer in my lover’s groves
Always, for ever?”

Ah! if she only knew! if she knew how
I yearn to hold her, make her happy, strow
Love-petals for tired feet: that never moves
My good thought from her, howe’er folly roves,
She would believe that I can love her now,
Always, for ever.

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