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MY CHOICE.

How, listening to the robin's note,

And to the oriole's honeyed throat,

And the soft low from fields remote

Sent up by milking cows;

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VI.

How, while one loving arm embraced

The roundness of her willing waist,

The other hand with hers enlaced,

And cheeks that almost met,

We walked and talked, while rolled the time,

As softly as an antique rhyme

To which our hearts beat gentle chime,

Love's passionate duet.

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