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42                STEVENSON'S POEMS
Springs in the favouring Summer air, and grows. And waxes strong ; and when the Summer goes, Remains, a perfect tree.
Joy she may give and take again, Joy she may take and leave us pain.
0 Love, and what care we ? For one thing   thou  hast  given,   O   Love, one thing
Is ours that nothing can remove ; And as the King discrowned is still a King,
The unhappy lover still preserves his love.
I DO not fear to own me kin
To the glad clods in which spring flowers begin;
Or to my brothers, the great trees,
That speak with pleasant voices m the breeze,
Loud talkers with the winds that pass ;
Or to my sister, the deep grass.
Of such I am, of such my body is,
That thrills to reach its lips to kiss.
That gives and takes with wind and sun and rain
And feels keen pleasure to the point of pain.