Читать книгу Poems - Julia C. R. Dorr - Страница 37

Idly said! God hath taken care of all Joy or pain that might befall! Lover’s lip shall never thrill At thy kisses, soft and still; Lover’s heart shall never break In sore anguish for thy sake; Lover’s soul for thee shall know Nor love’s rapture, nor its woe;— All is said!