Sonnet XVII

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic


Guilt be my fault. That I may forbear its weight. Yet my grief I keep in a vault. Which is my heart, which is my soul. A truth I can not see well lit. A great mysterious wisdom I see fit. If I loath hate & adore love, What early tounge will know my speech? & be viewed as the dove's gentle flight.


Submitted: December 19, 2017

© Copyright 2021 anonymous 1520. All rights reserved.

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