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1862–1900

The Kiss

Thomas Winthrop Hall

Over the green fields, over the snow, Something I send thee, something I throw. No one can guess it; no one can know. Light as a feather, quick as the eye;

Thin as a sunbeam, deep as the sky; Worthless, but something a queen could not buy. Ah, you have caught it, love! How do I know? Sweet, there are secrets lost ages ago.

Lovers learn all of them. Smile not,—‘ tis so.

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The Kiss · Thomas Winthrop Hall · Poetry Cove