Henry David Thoreau



                   Indeed, Indeed, I Cannot Tell


                   Indeed, indeed, I cannot tell,
                   Though I ponder on it well,
                   Which were easier to state,
                   All my love or all my hate.
                   Surely, surely, thou wilt trust me
                   When I say thou dost disgust me.
                   O, I hate thee with a hate
                   That would fain annihilate;
                   Yet sometimes against my will,
                   My dear friend, I love thee still.
                   It were treason to our love,
                   And a sin to God above,
                   One iota to abate
                   Of a pure impartial hate.


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