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1841–1896

XIX.

Mathilde Blind

Once on a golden day, In the golden month of May, I gave my heart away — Little birds were singing.

I culled my heart in truth, Wet with the dews of youth, For love to take, forsooth — Little flowers were springing.

Love sweetly laughed at this, And between kiss and kiss Fled with my heart in his: Winds warmly blowing.

And with his sun and shower Love kept my heart in flower, As in the greenest bower Rose richly glowing.

Till, worn at evensong, Love dropped my heart among Stones by the way ere long; Misprized token.

There in the wind and rain, Trampled and rent in twain, Ne'er to be whole again, My heart lies broken.

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XIX. · Mathilde Blind · Poetry Cove