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Spring
“Tis time to sing the girl of spring; Sing, sing, with voice impassioned, The golden hair, the features fair, The form divinely fashioned! The girl of smiles and witching wiles, Of dainty frills and laces, And waists of criss-cross dainty threads Dividing open spaces,
The filmy frocked, The stocking-clocked, The baby ribbon showing; The wind-blown hair, The features fair And fresh and sweet and glowing.
Oh, rise and sing the girl of spring— Or girls—there’s many of her— The deep, deep eyes, wherein there lies The blue of skies above her; Her smiling lips, the glance she tips Across her filmy shoulder, And each wee curl that in its whorl Ensnares each rash beholder.
The laughing one, The chaffing one, Born of the glad birds’ sing-time! The filmy frocked, Be-laced and clocked, Enchanting girl of spring-time.
Oh, apple blooms shed rare perfumes, And morning-glories tempt one; But marguerite nor blossom sweet Can woo one or exempt one From loving her; the winds may purr Across the fields of clover, But still we sing the girl of spring, The skies that arch her over.
The girl of spring! The filmy thing! The clocked and peek-a-boo girl! The young and fair With wind-blown hair, The dainty me-and-you girl.
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