The Poems of Henry Timrod by Henry Timrod
page 61 of 215 (28%)
page 61 of 215 (28%)
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Is -- resembling thee.
Six to half a score of summers Make the sweetest of the "teens" -- Not too young to guess, dear Lily, What a lover means. Laughing girl, and thoughtful woman, I am puzzled how to woo -- Shall I praise, or pique her, Lily? Tell me what to do. "Silly lover, if thy Lily Like her sister lilies be, Thou must woo, if thou wouldst wear her, With a simple plea. "Love's the lover's only magic, Truth the very subtlest art; Love that feigns, and lips that flatter, Win no modest heart. "Like the dewdrop in my bosom, Be thy guileless language, youth; Falsehood buyeth falsehood only, Truth must purchase truth. "As thou talkest at the fireside, With the little children by -- As thou prayest in the darkness, |
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