To Anne
Oh, Anne, your offences to me have been grievous: I thought from my wrath no atonement could save you; But Woman is made to command...
This is a poetry & verse.
Oh, Anne, your offences to me have been grievous: I thought from my wrath no atonement could save you; But Woman is made to command and deceive us-- I look'd in your face, and I almost forgave you. I vow'd I could ne'er for a moment respect you, Yet thought that a day's separation was long; When we met, I determined again to suspect you-- Your smile soon convinced me _suspicion_ was wrong.…
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