< Page:Poems (IA poemstennalfr00tennrich).pdf
Because all words, tho' culled with choicest art,
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142
POEMS.
lxxix.
Failing to give the bitter of the sweet,
Wither beneath the palate, and the heart
Faints, faded by its heat.
SONG.
Who can say
Why Today
Tomorrow will be yesterday?
Who can tell
Why to smell
The violet, recalls the dewy prime
Of youth and buried time?
The cause is nowhere found in rhyme.
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