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1841–1896

XV.

Mathilde Blind

Dear, when I look into your eyes My hurts are healed, my heart grows whole; The barren places in my soul, Like waste lands under April skies,

Break into flower beneath your eyes. Ah, life grows lovely where you are; Only to think of you gives light To my dark heart, within whose night

Your image, though you bide afar, Glows like a lake-reflected star. Dare I crave more than only this: A thrill of love, a transient smile

To gladden all my world awhile? No more, alas! Is mortal bliss Not transient as a lover's kiss?

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XV. · Mathilde Blind · Poetry Cove