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 Rh Rh COULD not see at that hour, I tell you, I could not see! The Face of the night was wet And there was rain on the wind. Oh, misery&mdash;oh, regret! Blind! Blind! Blind! Blind! I tell you, I could not see. There was too much rain on the wind When I stooped and picked that flower.

I hold it now in my hand, As the moon thro' the branches peers, Wickedly, wantonly peers. But now it is too late, And its petals desolate Droop and lose their power. And I see that this murdered flower Would have changed the course of my fate.

And now, oh wanton moon, As you flicker thro' boughs where the rains Drip to a fitful tune, I see on that flower the veins Of a delicate-pencilled rune, A hope that no longer remains.