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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=536363" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Woman’s Sonnets: XII</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=536363" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">'Tis ended truly, truly as was best.<br>Love is a little thing, for one short day;<br>You could not make it your life's only quest,<br>Nor watch the poor corpse long in its decay.<br>Go forth, dear, thou hast much to do on earth;<br>In life's campaign there waits thee a great part,<br>Much to be won and conquered of more worth<br>Than this poor victory of a woman's heart.<br>For me the daylight of my years is dim.<br>I seek not gladness, yet shall find content<br>In such small duties as are learned of Him<br>Who bore all sorrows, till my youth is spent.<br>Yet come what may to me of weal or woe,<br>I love thee, bless thee, dear, where'er thou go.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Wilfrid+Scawen+Blunt">Wilfrid Scawen Blunt</a></strong></div>

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