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520 THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
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EN ATTENDANT
T
HIS morning there were dazzling drifts of daisies in the meadow, On sunny slopes the celandines were glittering like gold, Across the bright and breezy world ran shifting shine
and shadow, The wind blew warmly from the west. Now all is changed and cold.
He's half an hour late, While here I wait and wait. Well, it is just my fate — Too plainly I can see,
He never cared for me.
How cruel men can be /
I wish those daffodils out there would cease their
foolish flutter, And keep their bobbing yellow heads for just a second
still. My eyes ache so / Would some one please to partly
close the shutter, And move those hateful hyacinths from off the
window-sill ?
He's half an hour late, No longer I shall wait. Hark, there's the garden gate / Love is this you at last ? Ah, do not be downcast — / knew the clocks were fast. |
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