Servant Girl and Grocer’s Boy |
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Her lips’ remark was: “Oh, you kid!”
Her soul spoke thus (I know it did):
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“O king of realms of endless joy,
My own, my golden grocer’s boy,
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I am a princess forced to dwell
Within a lonely kitchen cell,
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While you go dashing through the land
With loveliness on every hand.
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Your whistle strikes my eager ears
Like music of the choiring spheres.
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The mighty earth grows faint and reels
Beneath your thundering wagon wheels.
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How keenly, perilously sweet
To cling upon that swaying seat!
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How happy she who by your side
May share the splendors of that ride!
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Ah, if you will not take my hand
And bear me off across the land,
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Then, traveller from Arcady,
Remain awhile and comfort me.
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What other maiden can you find
So young and delicate and kind?”
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Her lips’ remark was: “Oh, you kid!”
Her soul spoke thus (I know it did).
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