The Lost Mistress

Robert Browning

1812 to 1889

Poem Image
Track 1

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I will hold your hand but as long as all may,
—You know the red turns grey.
Mere friends are we,—well, friends the merest
Or so very little longer!
Yet I will but say what mere friends say,
And the leaf-buds on the vine are woolly,
As one at first believes?
May I take your hand in mine?
Though it stay in my soul for ever!—
Though I keep with heart's endeavour,—
All's over, then: does truth sound bitter
For each glance of the eye so bright and black,
Hark, 'tis the sparrows' good-night twitter
About your cottage eaves!
To-morrow we meet the same then, dearest?
I noticed that, to-day;
One day more bursts them open fully
Or only a thought stronger;
Keep much that I resign:
Your voice, when you wish the snowdrops back,

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