Oh, Grief is not so near to tears As I!
Hurting me more than chord-pain-
The thought of you,
Quiet, alone,
Lovely as a watered reed,
Resting in the straightness
Of your cool white bed.
For I, storm-shattered and sick,
Lie here flushed, hard-breathing.
Oh, Grief is not so near to tears As I!
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