Picture Courtesy: The Black Swan, Picasa
How could I not hate you?
Your candour, like camphor-
what power could abate you!
What was I to you who were so much?
Tried though I, to sate you, sate you. . .
Your passions, and piques-
Poems would animate you.
Your innocence, impertinence-
Why must I contemplate you!
What are you to me who's nothing as such?
Tried though I, to hate, hate you. . .
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