The sky was bare and blue,
Above the rustling trees,
Below them, me and you,
Rife kingdom of the bees;
And driest winds wound blowing,
Through bushes sparse and thin,
As our lads to school were going,
Through the city morning’s din;

And I plucked a rose for you,
As soft as your piled hair -
And breathed a word of love -
My autumn’s consort fair!

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