Excerpt from The Record: An Occasional Diary in Verse; 1910-1912
Barest, I cannot dare To tell thee all my heart: So sweet the vain days are I cannot bear to part. What were all else to me, If I must part from thee.
So sweet the days wherein Naught of thy love I have, Nor any hope to win, Nor any power to save. 0 piteous constancy, That wastes my time and me.
Yet till these days are spent, Since I may call thee friend, I needs must rest content, And wait the hopeless end, That, spite of thee and me, At last, I know, must be.
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