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Aspens shiver by the osier bed, The waters ripple in September's sun Among the rushes, where I sit and dream My basket empty and my work undone.

I watch the spirals of blue smoke arise Above the green of oak and chestnut tree Only one week of wistful weariness Before as custom bids, I go to thee.

But, wilt thou take thy right? My brother's wife Went to the castle on her wedding-day, And when thou saw'st her shivering dissent Didst thou not say in kindness, "Go thy way,

"Untouched by me, even as thou hast come, Save in the way of gifts; take this and this." And she, poor little fool, rejoined her mate, Unharmed, unhonoured, even by a kiss.

Last week I saw her at her cottage door Nursing her clumsy child; no wistful sigh For what her peasant arms might yet have held, A child of thine,—broke her serenity.

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