New Love Poems
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Although crowds gathered once if she but showed her face,

And even old men's eyes grew dim, this hand alone,

Like some last courtier at a gypsy camping-place

Babbling of fallen majesty, records what's gone.



These lineaments, a heart that laughter has made sweet,

These, these remain, but I record what's gone. A crowd

Will gather, and not know it walks the very street

Whereon a thing once walked that seemed a burning cloud.

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