The First Song
A POET writ a song of May
That checked his breath awhile;
He kept it for a summer day,
Then spake with half a smile:
“Oh, little song of purity,
Of mystic to-and-fro,
You are so much a part of me
I dare not let you go.”
And so he made a sister-song
With more of cunning art;
But held the first his whole life long
Deep hidden in his heart.
poem by Richard Francis Burton
Added by Poetry Lover
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