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Poem by Lascelles Abercrombie
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ALL last night I had quiet In a fragrant dream and warm: She became my Sabbath, And round my neck, her arm. I knew the warmth in my dreaming; The fragrance, I suppose, Was her hair about me, Or else she wore a rose. Her hair I think; for likest Woodruffe 'twas, when Spring Loitering down the wet woodways Treads it sauntering. No light, nor any speaking; Fragrant only and warm. Enough to know my lodging, The white Sabbath of her arm.
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