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AN INTERLUDE

› greenest growth of the Maytime,
de where the woods were wet,
een the dawn and the daytime;

e spring was glad that we met.

e was something the season wanted,
ough the ways and the woods smelt
sweet,

breath at your lips that panted,

e pulse of the grass at your feet.

came, and the sun came after,
nd the green grew golden above;
the flag-flowers lightened with laughter,
nd the meadowsweet shook with love.

r feet in the full-grown grasses

Moved soft as a weak wind blows: passed me as April passes,

Vith face made out of a rose.

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AN INTERLUDE

By the stream where the stems are slender,
Your bright foot paused at the sedge;
It might be to watch the tender

Light leaves in the springtime hedge.

On boughs that the sweet month blanches
With flowery frost of May;

It might be a bird in the branches,
It might be a thorn in the way.

I waited to watch you linger

With foot drawn back from the dew, Till a sunbeam straight like a finger Struck sharp through the leaves at you,

And a bird overhead sang Follow,
And a bird to the right sang Here;
And the arch of the leaves was hollow,
And the meaning of May was clear.

I saw where the sun's hand pointed,
I knew what the bird's note said:

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AN INTERLUDE

e dawn and the dewfall anointed,

I were queen by the gold on your head.

e glimpse of a burnt-out ember

alls a regret of the sun,

ember, forget, and remember at Love saw done and undone.

ember the way we parted,
e day and the way we met:
hoped we were both broken-hearted,
d knew we should both forget.

May with her world in flower

emed still to murmur and smile

ou murmured and smiled for an hour: saw you turn at the stile.

nd like a white wood-blossom

ou lifted, and waved, and passed, head hung down to the bosom, nd pale, as it seemed, at last.

AN INTERLUDE

And the best and the worst of this is,
That neither is most to blame,
If you've forgotten my kisses,
And I've forgotten your name.
ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE

ADE OF THE DEVIL-MAY

CARE

s the wandering pike am I,

y the strings to my amorous bow, than a little inclined to fly

terfly lovering, to and fro;

py wherever the flowers blow,

the dew on the leaf, and the sunshine above.

ribly wrong and unprincipled? No,

s too short to be "dead in love!"

or me is the lover's sigh;

ols are they, to be worrying so!
ng my fill of the honey I fly
tterfly lovering, to and fro.

kim the cream, and let all else go;
er my roses, and give a shove
wer my shoulder at dutiful woe,
is too short to be "dead in love!"

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