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Show The Childless. When tho green tldo of summor flows, Sho waits besldo tho frail pink roso, And looks with eyes of Paradise On tho dear world that childhood knows. Tho evening lilies, palo and sweet, Stay tor an hour her little foot: Wistful sho stands with ploadlng hands, Hands that my lips so yearn to greot. When tho white blooms of winter fall, Sho lingers by tho gardon wall, So small and still In tho gray chill O child, could you but hoar my call! When tho great night fnlls full nnd deep, i And alt homo-children llo nsloep, ' Sould sho hut rest upon my breast-child, breast-child, what wondrous watch I'll keen. Emery Pottlo in Everybody's Mgazlne. |