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I Cannot Tell, Not I, Why She
by:
Walter Savage Landor
(1775-1864)
I cannot tell, not I, why she
Awhile so gracious, now should be
So grave: I cannot tell you why
The violet hangs its head awry.
It shall be cull'd, it shall be worn,
In spite of every sign of scorn,
Dark look, and overhanging thorn.
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poems by Walter Savage Landor