1909
Reason
Since I do not live
By reason alone,
The correct logic men expound
Saves me not.
Smoke
O the smoke that trails
Over the rustling leaves of the grove!
My beloved surely
Is preparing her morning meal.
My Plight
So anxious to forgive
That I await in anguish,
But alas! he asks me not for forgiveness.
To whom shall I bemoan my sad plight?
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