Plum-Flowers
C
Clark Ashton Smith
0
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On boughs a-tremble with the rain,
The blown white flowers of the plum
Their fragile hold awhile retain.
And though tempestuous tears have come
Between us, and a startled moan
From mouths that kisses have made dumb —
Still, still, the gentler tears atone,
And still we keep our April love,
Like poising petals all unflown.
Bu şiiri puanla
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