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WHAT WOULD I GIVE?.
BITTER FOR SWEET
SUMMER is gone with all its roses,
Its sun and perfumes and sweet flowers,
Its warm air and refreshing showers:
  And even Autumn closes.

Yea, Autumn's chilly self is going,
And winter comes which is yet colder:
Each day the hoar-frost waxes bolder;
  And the last buds cease blowing.


WHAT WOULD I GIVE?
wHAT would I give for a heart of flesh to warm me through,
Instead of this heart of stone ice-cold whatever I do;
Hard and cold and small, of all hearts the worst of all.

What would I give for words, if only words would come;
But now in its misery my spirit has fallen dumb:
Oh, merry friends, go your way, I have never a word to say.

What would I give for tears, not smiles but scalding tears,
To wash the black mark clean, and to thaw the frost of years,
To wash the stain ingrain, and to make me clean again.