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1841–1896

XI.

Mathilde Blind

Ah, yesterday was dark and drear, My heart was deadly sore; Without thy love it seemed, my Dear, That I could live no more.

And yet I laugh and sing to-day; Care or care not for me, Thou canst not take the love away With which I worship thee.

And if to-morrow, Dear, I live, My heart I shall not break: For still I hold it that to give Is sweeter than to take.

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XI. · Mathilde Blind · Poetry Cove