Poems (Mary Coleridge)/Poem 191

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CXCI TAR UBLIA CHI BIEN EIMA
To me realities but seem
The offspring of a foolish dream.
The things that were, alone are true,
The Past is Present here with you.

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With you among the flowers I stray,
That grow not here but far away,
And gazing from your eyes I see
A soul for ever lost to me,

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