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A Lovers Envy

 I envy every flower that blows 
Along the meadow where she goes, 
And every bird that sings to her, 
And every breeze that brings to her
The fragrance of the rose.
I envy every poet's rhyme That moves her heart at eventime, And every tree that wears for her Its brightest bloom, and bears for her The fruitage of its prime.
I envy every Southern night That paves her path with moonbeams white, And silvers all the leaves for her, And in their shadow weaves for her A dream of dear delight.
I envy none whose love requires Of her a gift, a task that tires: I only long to live to her, I only ask to give to her All that her heart desires.

Poem by Henry Van Dyke
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