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Read the collected works of Robert Browning. by Robert Browning This is a spray the Bird clung to, Making it blossom with pleasure, Ere the high tree-top she sprung to, Fit for her nest and her treasure. Oh, what a hope beyond measure Was the poor spray's, which the flying feet hung to, So to be singled out, built in, and sung to! This is a heart the Queen leant on, Thrilled in a minute erratic, Ere the true bosom she bent on, Meet for love's regal dalmatic. Oh, what a fancy ecstatic Was the poor heart's, ere the wanderer went on - Love to be saved for it, proffered to, spent on! More: Writer Directory | Book Reviews | Homework Help | E-texts | Timeline | Submit a Review | |
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