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1728–1774

A SONNET

Oliver Goldsmith

WEEPING, murmuring, complaining, Lost to every gay delight; MYRA, too sincere for feigning, Fears th’ approaching bridal night.

Yet, why impair thy bright perfection? Or dim thy beauty with a tear? Had MYRA followed my direction, She long had wanted cause of fear.

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A SONNET · Oliver Goldsmith · Poetry Cove