The Love-Hour
Where may she of the hall bedroom hold the love-hour?
In what sweet privacy find her soul before the face of the beloved?
And the kiss that lifts her from the noise of the shop,
And the bitter carelessness of the streets?
Neither is there garden nor secret parlor for her:
And cruel winter has spoiled the shores of the sea;
The benches in the park are laden with melting snow,
And the bedroom forbidden ...
But ah, the love of a woman! She will not be cheated!
Up the stoop she went to the vestibule of the house,
In what sweet privacy find her soul before the face of the beloved?
And the kiss that lifts her from the noise of the shop,
And the bitter carelessness of the streets?
Neither is there garden nor secret parlor for her:
And cruel winter has spoiled the shores of the sea;
The benches in the park are laden with melting snow,
And the bedroom forbidden ...
But ah, the love of a woman! She will not be cheated!
Up the stoop she went to the vestibule of the house,
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