THE BETROTHAL
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h, come, my lad, or go, my lad,And love me if you like.I shall not hear the door shutNor the knocker strike. Oh, bring me gifts or beg me gifts,And wed me if you will.I’d make a man a good wife,Sensible and still. And why should I be cold, my lad,And why should you repine,Because I love a dark headThat never will be mine? I might as well be easing youAs lie alone in bedAnd waste the night in wantingA cruel dark head. You might as well be calling yoursWhat never will be his,And one of us be happy.There’s few enough as is.
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