Page:Verses–Blanche·Baughan-1898.pdf/78

 And (like a Starling, venturing notes That to the Thrush belong), Me too in this singing world she sets Crooning my little song.

HE is an apple-blossom, All gentle pink and white, With a bit of blue sky in either eye To keep it happy and bright;

And she, a wild March violet, The daughter of wind and rain; That flings you the bliss of a fragrant kiss— And snatches it back again!