From the meadow your walks have left so
sweet
That whenever a March-wind sighs
He sets the jewelprint of your feet
In violets blue as your eyes,...
That whenever a March-wind sighs
He sets the jewelprint of your feet
In violets blue as your eyes,...
The red rose cries, "She is near,
she is near;"
And the white rose weeps, "She is late;"
The larkspur listens, "I hear, I hear;"
And the lily whispers, "I wait."
And the white rose weeps, "She is late;"
The larkspur listens, "I hear, I hear;"
And the lily whispers, "I wait."
This is just a little bit of this long poem. You can find even more of it here,
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