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red for the fair young head to weave a crown, Let them be half blown, For a rose in June it will fade too soon to gold and brown. For thee my own The fairest blossoms in all love's land, for that small hot and, And a bird to sing all the sweet day through, Lest fear should wake in the heart of you, And I hear my own heart's beating; Wild roses red for the fair gold head. Love in my arms lies sleeping.

Lilies fair for the wind-blown hair, It were better so Than a blossom dead. And a rose's thorn; but the fresh glad morn brings breath of snow. Hath summer fled?