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Sonnet #3

First draft.

Earth has ne’er beheld so fair a flower,
Lilies are not as white, nor roses red;
Incarnate blossom, perfumed with such power,
Such virtue, as would raise one from the dead
And open eyes that never saw the light
But in thy presence can see nothing else,
Enchanted beauty, who makes darkest night
To shine as day, to think I thought thee false!
Here do I swear, a madness on me lay,
A sickness that thy scented breath hath cured,
My heart is whole, and wholely thine I say,
Of that forever canst thou be assured.
Rare bloom, within thy garden let me live,
Enraptured by the hope thou deignst to give.
  

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