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Monday, 23 May 2011


Now fancy paints that bygone day

When you were here, my fair -

The whole lake rang with rapid skates

In the windless, winter air.


You leaned to me, I leaned to you,

Our course was smooth as flight -

We steered - a heel-touch to the left,

A heel-touch to the right.


We swung our way through flying men,

Your hand lay fast in mine,

We saw the shifting crowd dispart,

The level ice-reach shine.


I swear by yon swan-travelled lake,

By yon calm hill above,

I swear had we been drowned that day

We had been drowned in love.


Robert Louis Stevenson, 1850-94

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