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Rh And the April eyes that loved me too ready with smile or tear, Too ready to read my wishes in mine that she might obey Ere I spoke; so in the springtime I went from her arms away.

I sought my love and I found her, when Summer days were long, All the hedges bright with blossoms and musical with song, But the eyes that saw me coming no answer to mine would speak; The lids drooped till the lashes lay dark on her crimson cheek, The hands I clasped for a moment would but struggle to be free, As I tried to win her to speak of love, of herself, of me. ‘Hark! the young birds,’ she only said; ‘dost hear them sing in the wood?’ Love's rosy wings had brushed her eyes as she passed to maidenhood. So I stayed, but soon grew weary—man's discontent, I ween— And I longed for Autumn colours, not trees for ever green.