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When Hearts Are Trumps

by Tom Hall

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The Kiss

Over the green fields, over the snow,
Something I send thee, something I throw.
No one can guess it; no one can know.

Light as a feather, quick as the eye;
Thin as a sunbeam, deep as the sky;
Worthless, but something a queen could not buy.

Ah, you have caught it, love! How do I know?
Sweet, there are secrets lost ages ago.
Lovers learn all of them. Smile not,—’tis so.

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