Page:Poems - Lewis (1812).djvu/80

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POEMS.

THE BLIND LOVER.

It's true, my Love, of precious lightThese sightless orbs admit no ray;Dark are to me the Stars of Night,And blush of morn, and blaze of day.Yet think not, Sweet, the want of eyesCan e'er thine Arthur's mind annoy,While Mary's hand that want supplies,And kindly guides her poor blind Boy.
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