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Alas! my lass was hubris-hurt
And forth she went,
Away she turned:
“And ne´er e´er see me mo
And shun ye me,
Far, thither be!”
A crime, it seemed, had I peformed
And clogged her ear from all my talk.
She scorned my heart,
Its swell and naught.
The haughty look
And way I walked
Was spelled to nil
And killed in thought:
“I curse at thee,
Hurl ye from me,
Pray, curl away
Like mist and fog!”

Aye, I for me


That kiss was mine

That kiss was nice
I had a dream
I felt the touch
Whose lips on mine?
Methought, benign
Your lips I felt… on mine
And I was loved by you at last
Beloved, bedeared by you at least…
And glad I was,
I thought of thee…
How sure I was it real to be!
´Twas not a crime:
That kiss was mine!

The Author:

Philipp Ammon