Where
have you been O, maiden spring,
Since
last I heard you laugh and sing?
“O,
I have been, kind sir,” said she,
“Where
poets never rhyme to me.”
And
where is that, O, Springtime fair?
To
which she cried in accents rare:
“O,
that is in the vale of far,
Where
springster poets never are.”
Dec.
23, ‘92
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