What lips my
lips have kissed, &
where, & why, I
have forgotten, &
what arms have lain
under my head
till morning; but the
rain is full of
ghosts tonight, that
tap & sigh upon
the glass & listen
for reply; & in my
heart there stirs a
quiet pain for un-
remembered lads
that not again will
turn to me at mid-
night with a cry.
Thus in the winter
stands a lonely tree,
nor knows what
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