Page:Thirty poems (IA thirtypoems00bryarich).pdf/61

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A SICK-BED.

Long hast thou watched my bed, And smoothed the pillow oftFor this poor, aching head, With touches kind and soft.
Oh! smooth it yet again, As softly as before;Once—only once—and then I need thy hand no more.
Yet here I may not stay, Where I so long have lain,
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