Tuesday, October 18, 2011


by: William Blake (1757-1827)
      EVER seek to tell thy love,
      Love that never told can be;
      For the gentle wind doth move
      Silently, invisibly.
      I told my love, I told my love,
      I told her all my heart,
      Trembling, cold, in ghastly fears.
      Ah! she did depart!
      Soon after she was gone from me,
      A traveller came by,
      Silently, invisibly:
      He took her with a sigh.

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