A is defrauded of his land by B,
Who’s driven from the premises by
C.
D buys the place with coin of plundered
E.
“That A’s an Anarchist!”
says F to G.
TO ONE ACROSS THE WAY.
When at your window radiant you’ve
stood
I’ve sometimes thought—forgive
me if I’ve erred—
That some slight thought of
me perhaps has stirred
Your heart to beat less gently than it
should.
I know you beautiful; that you are good
I hope—or fear—I
cannot choose the word,
Nor rightly suit it to the
thought. I’ve heard
Reason at love’s dictation never
could.
Blindly to this dilemma so I grope,
As one whose every pathway
has a snare:
If you are minded
in the saintly fashion
Of your pure face my passion’s without
hope;
If not, alas! I equally
despair,
For what to me were hope without
the passion?
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