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Dorothy Parker - The Evening PrimroseDorothy Parker - The Evening Primrose
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You know the bloom, unearthly white, That none has seen by morning light- The tender moon, alone, may bare Its beauty to the secret air. Who`d venture past its dark retreat Must kneel, for holy things and sweet, That blossom, mystically blown, No man may gather for his own Nor touch it, lest it droop and fall…. Oh, I am not like that at all!
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