Soft you day, be velvet soft,
My true love approaches,
Look you bright, you dusty sun,
Array your golden coaches.
Soft you wind, be soft as silk,
My true love is speaking,
Hold you birds, your silver throats,
His golden voice I'm seeking.
Come, you death, in haste do come,
My shroud of black be weaving,
Quiet, my heart, be deathly quiet,
My true love is leaving.
~'The Gamut' by Maya Angelou. This poem somehow strikes me as being sweet and rather old-fashioned, even Victorian.
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