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Category: Poems of Love Lost
I made a hundred little songs That told the joy and pain of love, And sang them blithely, tho' I knew No whit thereof. I was a weaver deaf and blind; A miracle was wrought for me, But I have lost my skill to weave Since I can see. For while I sang--ah swift and strange! Love passed and touched me on the brow, And I who made so many songs Am silent now.
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