Sonnet by Zora Cross

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Think not but that I miss you still, though Time 
Bids me to welcome in your rival now
With many a bud and blossomy fragrant bough 
Whose every colour mates in perfect rhyme. 
I am not fickle, nor count it a crime
To change my loves, and feel upon my brow 
Another's kisses, since you taught me how
To bear your loss the less I felt your prime. 
So let me gather the new garlands in,
And deck the hearth, and go my flowery way, 
And, since it seems I must, let me still sing. 
To love again so soon can be no sin,
Since all too soon you chose no more to stay, 
Winter, and left my heart vacant for spring.

First published in The Sydney Morning Herald, 2 February 1937

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This page contains a single entry by Perry Middlemiss published on February 2, 2014 10:02 AM.

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