The handiwork of Nature's loom.
Another ball, and once again
We sit together, she and I;
I urge my suit, and show as proof
The faded bud of days gone by.
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A blush, a sigh, a dainty hand;
The drooping eyelids half unclose:
"Why, Dick, you always used to say
You 'd never choose a full-blown rose."
K.