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The Wish

Would that my pen were tipped with a magic wand

That I could but tell of my love for you

That I could but write with the surge I feel

When I gaze upon your sweet face-

Would that my throat were blessed by the nightingale

That I could but sing of my hearts great love

In some lonely tree flooded with silver

Sing till I burst my breast with such passion

Sing, then fall dead to lay at your feet.