The Songstress
J
Joseph Skipsey
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BACK flies my soul to other years,
When thou that charming lay repeatest,
When smiles were only chased by tears,
Yet sweeter far than smiles the sweetest.
Thy music ends, and where are they?
Those golden times by memory cherish'd?
O, syren, sing no more that lay
Or sing till I like them have perish'd!
1886.
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