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The Transformation of a Texas Girl |
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No fires of wild ambition were flaming in her soul,
Her eyes with tender passion she'd never upward roll;
The wondrous world she'd heard of, to her was but a dream
As walked she in the furrows behind that lop-eared team.
Born on that small plantation, 'twas there she thought she'd die;
She never longed for pinions that she might rise and fly
To other lands far distant, where breezes fresh and cool
Would never shake and tremble from brayings of a mule.
But yesterday we saw her dressed up in gorgeous
style!
A half a dozen fellows were basking in her smile! She'd jewels on her fingers, and jewels in her ears — Great sparkling, flashing brilliants that hung as frozen tears!
The feet once nude and soil-stained were clad in Frenchy boots,
The once tanned face bore tintings of miscellaneous fruits;
The voice that once admonished the mules to move along
Was tuned to new-born music, as sweet as Siren's song!
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