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Old Love: A ballad
OLD LOVE
.
I walk alone the path of life,
my destiny to fill.
I march but to my drum, my fife
and lonely bagpipe trill.
.
If to your heart I have caused pain,
I did not mean it so.
My love is soft as Summer’s rain
and pure as Winter’s snow.
.
Should we but chance to meet again,
within a span of years.
How should I then address your pain,
with silence or with tears?
.
And should you rush with open arms
and smiling eyes to me,
to show again those lovely charms,
that once had captured me.
.
I would be forced to turn away,
lest you should chance to hear,
the breaking of this heart of clay,
or see the running tear.
.
Sartor
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