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Oliver Goldsmith

Woman

WHEN lovely woman stoops to folly,
    And finds too late that men betray,
What charm can soothe her melancholy?
    What art can wash her tears away?

The only art her guilt to cover,
    To hide her shame from ev’ry eye,
To give repentence to her lover,
    And wring his bosom is—to die.

About the poet
Oliver Goldsmith
 
By the same poet
Memory
 
Related books
Oliver Goldsmith at amazon.co.uk


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