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1865–1940

VIII

Laurence Alma-Tadema

Beloved! are we not wanderers on a road Unknown, that grope their way among the rocks Together?— Yes, together; for these shocks Our hearts have borne and given, part not, goad

Unto no hatred. Though I be your load Of care and you my anguish, something locks Our hands, my brother: Destiny, that mocks Man's thinkings, and here finds a new strange mode

Of welding chance-divided loves, a link That's more than human, that is half divine, Since, beggared of you, still I hold you mine Above all bonds. So love me well. We'll drink

Of all pure streams together, dear, and break These rocks to sand for one another's sake.

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VIII · Laurence Alma-Tadema · Poetry Cove