Response

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When Phyllis sighs and from her eyes
  The light dies out; my soul replies
  With misery of deep-drawn breath,
  E'en as it were at war with death.

  When Phyllis smiles, her glance beguiles
  My heart through love-lit woodland aisles,
  And through the silence high and clear,
  A wooing warbler's song I hear.

  But if she frown, despair comes down,
  I put me on my sack-cloth gown;
  So frown not, Phyllis, lest I die,
  But look on me with smile or sigh.

© Paul Laurence Dunbar