The Passer
I love the stone of your threshold,
I love the path without it,
I love the briar in its borders,
With the brave young plants about it
There is pleasure in sight of your windows,
And passing, in decorous night,
I smile my love to your window
And bow my love to your light.
I love the path without it,
I love the briar in its borders,
With the brave young plants about it
There is pleasure in sight of your windows,
And passing, in decorous night,
I smile my love to your window
And bow my love to your light.
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