TO ---- - William Shakespeare Poems


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TO ----

  One word is too often profaned
    For me to profane it,
One feeling too falsely disdained
    For thee to disdain it;
One hope is too like despair
    For prudence to smother,
And pity from thee more dear
    Than that from another.

  I can give not what men call love,
    But wilt thou accept not
The worship the heart lifts above
    And the Heavens reject not,--
The desire of the moth for the star,
    Of the night for the morrow,
The devotion to something afar
    From the sphere of our sorrow?