<h2>XXI</h2>
<p>Say over again, and yet once over again,<br/>
That thou dost love me. Though the word repeated<br/>
Should seem a “cuckoo-song,” as thou dost treat it,<br/>
Remember, never to the hill or plain,<br/>
Valley and wood, without her cuckoo-strain<br/>
Comes the fresh Spring in all her green completed.<br/>
Belovëd, I, amid the darkness greeted<br/>
By a doubtful spirit-voice, in that doubt’s pain<br/>
Cry, “Speak once more—thou lovest!” Who can
fear<br/>
Too many stars, though each in heaven shall roll,<br/>
Too many flowers, though each shall crown the year?<br/>
Say thou dost love me, love me, love me—toll<br/>
The silver iterance!—only minding, Dear,<br/>
To love me also in silence with thy soul.</p>
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