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 Thy lips are fresh as dew on budding roses, The gold of dawn still lingers in thy hair, While the abandonment of sleep discloses How every attitude of youth is fair.

Thou art so pale, I hardly dare caress thee, Too brown my fingers show against the white. Ahi, the glory, that I should possess thee, Ahi, the grief, but for a single night!

The tulip tree has pallid golden flowers That grow more rosy as their petals fade; Such is the splendour of my evening hours Whose time of youth was wasted in the shade.

I shall not wait to see to-morrow's morning, Too bright the golden dawn for me,—too bright,— How could I bear thine eyes' unconscious scorning Of what so pleased thee in the dimmer light?

I may be wine had brought some brief illusion, Filling thy brain with rainbow fantasy, Or youth, with moonlight, making sweet collusion, Threw an alluring glamour over me.

Therefore I leave thee softly, to awaken When the first sun rays warm thy blue-veined breast, Smiling and all unknowing I have taken The poppied drink that brings me endless rest.

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