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1864–1915

ARTHUR S. CRIPPS.

Stephen Phillips

My dead love came to me, and said, ‘ God gives me one hour's rest, To spend with thee on earth again: How shall we spend it best?’

‘ Why, as of old,’ I said; and so We quarrell'd, as of old: But, when I turn'd to make my peace, That one short hour was told.

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ARTHUR S. CRIPPS. · Stephen Phillips · Poetry Cove