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ENOUGH have I of zephyrs soft and low,
Enough of breezes loaded with perfume,
Sickening the senses, showering down the bloom
Of roses, hiding velvet sward below.
Me rather please the northern winds, which blow
Strong, steady, clear, and cold, which fill the heart
With no vague longing; these shall never part
Desire from duty, but shall make me know
How, O my love, to use my utmost strength,
And seek thee in the path that I should tread;
Not drawing out my useless days in length
Of love-sick dreams, which sicken heart and head,
But loving like a man, who sets his eyes
On what he hopes to win, and struggles for the prize.
E. C. P.
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