Dante Gabriel Rossetti ( 3 of 3 )
Like the sweet apple which reddens upon the topmost bough,
A-top on the topmost twig--which the pluckers forgot, somehow--
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Like the sweet apple which reddens upon the topmost bough,
A-top on the topmost twig--which the pluckers forgot, somehow--
Forgot it not, nay, but got it not, for none could get it till
now.
This sunlight shames November where he grieves
In dead red leaves, and will not let him shun
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This sunlight shames November where he grieves
In dead red leaves, and will not let him shun
The day, though bough with bough be overrun.
But with a blessing every glade receives
High salutation.
Her voice was like the voice the stars
Had when they sang together.
Her voice was like the voice the stars
Had when they sang together.