nineteen

Love, which would better me find
called me here to this happy bind;
no errant surrender nor flashy fling,
not some magpie’s want of shinny thing.

Love, which would better my thought
guides gently each battle fought;
commands quiet counsel to my soul
so no measure found may be foul.

Love, which would better me be
brooks no action from whence others flee;
be grace evermore my fond champion
thus honour, this new life’s companion.

Music which played our meeting nights,
play a little for fortunate future bright.

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