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 You came to me bearing bright roses,
Red like the wine of your heart;
You twisted them into a garland
To set me aside from the mart.
Red roses to crown me your lover, And I walked aureoled and apart.
Enslaved and encircled, I bore it, Proud token of my gift to you.
The petals waned paler, and shriveled, And dropped; and the thorns started through.
Bitter thorns to proclaim me your lover, A diadem woven with rue.

by Amy Lowell
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