A Photograph
A photograph adorns my room
Two sweet young faces there,
Thank God, no tyrant speaks my doom —
To say which is more fair —
The evening star is sweet to see,
The morning star is bright,
But what conclave could e'er agree
Which gives the purer light?
Two sweet young faces there,
Thank God, no tyrant speaks my doom —
To say which is more fair —
The evening star is sweet to see,
The morning star is bright,
But what conclave could e'er agree
Which gives the purer light?
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