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;
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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