Tuesday, May 20, 2008

Lines Composed May 1st, 2003

Or could I name the blessings that grow with her and within her?
I longed, but had not hoped for her; my center was unstilled,
Till Fortune, quick to smite and smile, bestowed on me to win her,
The rain that showers the roots of me, the fount that keeps me filled.

-Thomas Banks-

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