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O PLOUGHBOY with the purple eyes That are so strangely clear, Did you make all the little songs I meet so often here?

Is it from out your singing heart That into mine they come? And are they flying to my lips Because they found yours dumb?

And is that why you look at me Half friendly, half in shame? (And twice you stopp’d and spoke to me, And once you ask’d my name.)

Brother! should they indeed be yours, And this my fancy true— Hark how they do but leave my lips To flutter home to you!