Page:Songs of the Affections.pdf/134

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Some, for the stormy play And joy of strife; And some, to fling away A weary life;—

But thou, pale sleeper, thou, With the slight frame, And the rich locks, whose glow Death cannot tame;

Only one thought, one power, Thee could have led, So, through the tempest's hour, To lift thy head!

Only the true, the strong, The love, whose trust Woman's deep soul too long Pours on the dust!