ODE TO KEATS
A feverish heart
Of roiling blood
Stains poet’s start
When beauty stood
Where loves abound
What truth be found
heart
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STERLING SCABBARD
My darling friend
The gift you tend
From heart to heart
Your work of art
You betoken love; I see
None other will aptly be
None other can possibly know
Your fingers the kindest bow
The gift you send
You darling friend.
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