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A QUESTION OF TIME.

DEAREST of maidens under the sun,

Tender tho' stately, graciously sweet,

Shy (or proud shall I call it?) to one

Who would bend to your hand, or kneel at your feet, -

Scorn you, or hate you, it matters not;

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Tho' love, as it may, come soon or late -

As it must, I say, unpray'd or sought, -

My patient heart can wait, can wait!

I dream of you in the dull-red sky,

In westward winter suns afar;

I hear your foot where the brown leaves lie,

Your voice in the dawn-wind, star to star.

Flashes ever a beautiful face

From the brittle fields of ice like glass;

Thro' snow-white corridors flits the grace

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