Like some ancient wounded foe
Whose last feint breath resides
Which no fight can draw out thus
Given only by acceptance might
By equal task of measured reign
Send not out to pitch and fail but
Must I to my pillow lie
And take her scent again
Whose last feint breath resides
Which no fight can draw out thus
Given only by acceptance might
By equal task of measured reign
Send not out to pitch and fail but
Must I to my pillow lie
And take her scent again