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Henry Kendall - At DuskHenry Kendall - At Dusk
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AT DUSK, like flowers that shun the day,     Shy thoughts from dim recesses break, And plead for words I dare not say         For your sweet sake. My early love! my first, my last!     Mistakes have been that both must rue; But all the passion of the past         Survives for you. The tender message Hope might send     Sinks fainting at the lips of speech, For, are you lover—are you friend,         That I would reach? How much to-night I’d give to win     A banished peace—an old repose; But here I sit, and sigh, and sin         When no one knows. The stern, the steadfast reticence,     Which made the dearest phrases halt, And checked a first and finest sense,         Was not my fault. I held my words because there grew     About my life persistent pride; And you were loved, who never knew         What love could hide! This purpose filled my soul like flame:     To win you wealth and take the place Where care is not, nor any shame         To vex your face. I said “Till then my heart must keep     Its secrets safe and unconfest;” And days and nights unknown to sleep         The vow attest. Yet, oh! my sweet, it seems so long     Since you were near; and fates retard The sequel of a struggle strong,         And life is hard— Too hard, when one is left alone     To wrestle passion, never free To turn and say to you, “My own,         Come home to me!”
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