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A collection of poetry by Scottish writer Robert Louis Stevenson.

Page 343 of 454
Table of Contents

Before This Little Gift Was Come

Before this little gift was come The little owner had made haste for home; And from the door of where the eternal dwell, Looked back on human things and smiled farewell. O may this grief remain the only one! O may our house be still a garrison Of smiling children, and forevermore The tune of little feet be heard along the floor!

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