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I Love ...

I Love ...

I Love in old days Clara d'Ellébeuse,
The school-girl of old boarding-schools,
Who, on warm evenings, sat beneath the limes,
Reading the magazines of olden times.

I love but her. Upon my heart is streaming
The blue light of her white breast.
Where is she now? Where was this happy nest?
Branches peered into the room where she was dreaming.

It may be possible she is not dead.
Perhaps we both were dead behind those walls.
In the great court-yard withered leaves were shed
In the cold wind of very olden falls.

Those peacock feathers ... Can you recollect
Their great vase near the sea-shells in a row?...
There came news of a ship that had been wrecked
Upon the Bank-Newfoundland, as you know.

Come, come to me, dear Clara d'Ellébeuse;
Let us be lovers yet, if you exist.
In the old garden there are old tulips.
Come quite naked, O Clara d'Ellébeuse.

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