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9. | IX.
WHEN SHE HAD PROMISED TO MEET ME. |
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A lover's diary | ||
158
IX.
WHEN SHE HAD PROMISED TO MEET ME.
I'm waiting under the apple-tree, dear,
Each moment a weary while,
And the beetle has crept from his furrow near,
To sun himself in your smile.
Each moment a weary while,
And the beetle has crept from his furrow near,
To sun himself in your smile.
Now comes the moon, and the flaunting pride
Of the twilight fades to gray,
The while she shoulders the clouds aside
To light your steps this way.
Of the twilight fades to gray,
The while she shoulders the clouds aside
To light your steps this way.
Such mortal meanings my love begets
In things which else were dumb,
I think that the very violets
Are looking the way you'll come!
In things which else were dumb,
I think that the very violets
Are looking the way you'll come!
159
That the dandelions from the beds
Wherein they softly lie
Are lifting their yellow and curly heads
Whenever a step goes by.
Wherein they softly lie
Are lifting their yellow and curly heads
Whenever a step goes by.
The owl, as I listen, seems to drown
In his muffled coat his cries,
And the hollyhock folds her red skirt down
To please my jealous eyes.
In his muffled coat his cries,
And the hollyhock folds her red skirt down
To please my jealous eyes.
I know, my love, you are coming now,
For the beetle is creeping higher,
And every blossom of every bough
Is red in the face as fire.
For the beetle is creeping higher,
And every blossom of every bough
Is red in the face as fire.
A lover's diary | ||