Memory
L
Leon Gellert
0
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The tangled twilight of your hair
Blew soft against my face,
Ah! We were young and you were fair,
This was the time
And this the place.
The river wound its way along
Beside yon almond tree;
And ever its evening song
It sang to you;
It sang to me.
To-night they told me you were dead,
And watched for me to weep.
‘I’ll sit beside this stream.’ I said
‘I’ll dream awhile,
and then – I’ll sleep.’
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