Roundel

by Sara Teasdale

　　

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If he could know my songs are all for him, At silver dawn or in the evening glow, Would he not smile and think it but a whim, If he could know? Or would his heart rejoice and overflow, As happy brooks that break their icy rim When April's horns along the hillsides blow? I may not speak till Eros' torch is dim, The god is bitter and will have it so; And yet to-night our fate would seem less grim If he could know.

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