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Show AFTER SUNSET. Once we went rambling, you and I, Over the fields one eve in June; Under our feet were the clover blooms, On the horizon the crescent moon. "When we are wed, my love," you said, "It shall be in the breezy month of June; Birds will sing, and the perfumed winds Will play at our bridal a pleasant tune." "Sweet June roses - rose-buds white, I will twine in your wavy, gold-brown hair." The night-wind sighed as the moon went down, And a vesper sparrow was singing there. Only a merry boy and girl, Loving and true, but we were not wed; I stand alone in the waning light, Beside the marble above your head. Here are roses - rose-buds white; The sparrow is singing his plaintive strain; Do you know I have brought you a gift tonight? It is wet, but with neither dew nor rain. -Helen Erwise?, in the Home Journal |