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"On My Love" (Lyric) by Blake

My love is not a faded rose Nor music out of tune; Not bitterness, but sweetness come Too much, too quick, too soon. On beauty I was overfed Till I at last grew ill; And even as lips speak these words I taste it, dulcet, still. Kindness' milk I overdrank Quaffing it far too fast; Thusly, when drunk, I asked for more To find I had the last. The jesting I had overdone Glad stories overtold The last of which I have to voice Is this, love's food, grown cold. Take care, all epicures of love, Of whereupon you eat; Insure that you've welcome table Or least, of all, a seat.

Blake 18-Aug-02/8:05 AM
Haha...now you're just silly.




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