LOVE POEMS, MOM POEMS and WAR POEMS

Romance was always young.
You come today
Just eight years old
With marvellous dark hair.
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Parent of golden dreams, Romance!
Auspicious Queen of childish joys,
Who lead’st along, in airy dance,
Thy votive train of girls and boys;
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Thy face is far from this our war,
Our call and counter-cry,
I shall not find Thee quick and kind,
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Wild nights. Wild nights!
Were I with thee,
Wild nights should be
Our luxury!
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