XXV.
We are so unlike each other, Thou and I, that none could guess We were children of one mother, But for mutual tenderness. Thou art rose-lined from the cold, And meant verily to hold Life's pure pleasures manifold.
We are so unlike each other, Thou and I, that none could guess We were children of one mother, But for mutual tenderness. Thou art rose-lined from the cold, And meant verily to hold Life's pure pleasures manifold.