ToC

 

The flowers in the garden

Are very cold at night;

When I look out of window

Their beds are hard and white.

The primrose and the scilla,

The merry crocus too—

O Jane! if we were flowers,

What should we children do?

We'd have to sleep all naked

Beneath the windy trees;

Yet we should die, I know it,

With even a chemise....

 

 

 

 

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[33]

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