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1876–1944

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Helen Hay Whitney

Love is a broken lily, A pale and crownless rose With golden heart made chilly By traitor touch of snows.

So sleep my heart — lie sleeping Nor open weary eyes, For waking is but weeping And Sleep is Paradise.

Love is a cadence trailing Where broken music falls, A hapless shadow sailing Across deserted walls.

So still my heart lie sleeping Till love's hot sun be set, For waking is but weeping. Asleep — sad eyes forget.

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SONG · Helen Hay Whitney · Poetry Cove