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A baby's hands, like rosebuds furled Whence yet no leaf expands, Ope if you touch, though close upcurled, A baby's hands.

Then, fast as warriors grip their brands When battle's bolt is hurled, They close, clenched hard like tightening bands.

No rosebuds yet by dawn impearled Match, even in loveliest lands, The sweetest flowers in all the world— A baby's hands.