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Once

I

ET a lily long ago;    I watched it whiten in the sun;    I loved it well,

I had but one.    Then summer-time was done,

The wind came and the rain,

My lily bent, lay low.

Only the night-time sees my pain—Alas, my lily long ago!

I had a rose-tree born in May;    I watched it burgeon and grow red,    I breathed the perfume that it shed.    Then summer-time had sped,

The frost came with its

My rose-tree died away.

Only the silence hears me weep—Alas, lost rose-tree! lost, lost May!

The garden's lily blows once more;    The buried rose will wake and climb;    There is no thought of rain and rime    After, next summer-time.

But the heart's blooms are weak;

Once dead for ever o'er.

Not night, not silence knows me

My joy that waned and blooms no more.

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Augusta Davies Webster

Augusta Webster (30 January 1837 – 5 September 1894) was an English poet, dramatist, essayist, and translator. The daughter of Vice-admiral Geor…

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