A poem by Violet Nicolson, Lawrence Hope, Adela Florence Cory Nicolson (1865 – 1904)


As one may sip a Stranger’s Bowl

You gave yourself but not your soul.

I wonder, now that time has passed,

Where you will come to rest at last.

You gave your beauty for an hour,

I held it gently as a flower.

You wished to leave me, told me so,–

I kissed your feet and let you go.

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