I) The Chaplet
Oh, not with laurel nor with bay
Nor any leaf of evergreen
Would I be crowned-so crowded are they
That sing a beauty longer seen.
But pluck the leaves that soonest die,
The branches twine that early fade;
For sere and sapless, shrunk and dry,
And these alone, shall give me shade.
No eyes have I but for the sight
Of early bloom that summer drought
Untimely kills; I love the light
That soonest flickers out.
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