A Palimpsest

… The rest
Of our life must be a palimpsest—
The old writing written there the best.

In the parchment hoary
Lies a golden story,
As 'mid secret feather of a dove,
As 'mid moonbeams shifted through a cloud:

Let us write it over,
O my lover,
For the far Time to discover,
As 'mid secret feathers of a dove,
As 'mid moonbeams shifted through a cloud!
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