Come, take hands, you are not suchAs this will weary overmuch.Sit we down, and hear rehearseThe marvels of the sweet-souled verse
Poem With a copy of "The Faithful Shepherdess"
You know the wild flowers suit your hair:Place hands full of the purple bloomOf loosestrife, glad of such soft doom,And tender-toned narcissus thereEdward Andrade
Your father bears an iron reedFilled with a flame that makes us bleed;Your kindly mother loves to tearFeathers and skin to deck her hair.Edward Andrade
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