Sunday, April 1, 2018

by John Clare

I loved thee, though I told thee not,
   Right earlily and long,
Thou wert my joy in every spot,
   My theme in every song.

And when I saw a stranger face
   Where beauty held the claim,
I gave it like a secret grace
   The being of thy name.

And all the charms of face or voice
   Which I in others see
Are but the recollected choice
   Of what I felt for thee.

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