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The GARDEN OF EROS BY OSCAR WILDE.


OSCAR WILDE

It is full summer now, the heart of June;
Not yet the sunburnt reapers are astir
Upon the upland meadow where too soon
Rich autumn time, the season’s usurer,
Will lend his hoarded gold to all the trees,
And see his treasure scattered by the wild and spendthrift breeze.

Continue reading “The GARDEN OF EROS BY OSCAR WILDE.”
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