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Edith Nesbit - The OnlookerEdith Nesbit - The Onlooker
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If I could make a pillow for your head, Soft, pleasant, filled with every pretty thought; If I could lay a carpet where you tread Of all my life`s most radiant fancies wrought, And spread my love as canopy above you, Your sleep, your steps should know how much I love you. But--as life goes, to the old sorry tune-- I stand apart, I see thorns wound your feet, Your sleeping eyes resenting sun and moon, Your head lie restless on a breast unmeet-- And say no word, and suffer without moan, Lest you should guess how much you are alone.
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