My Playmate
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- The pines were dark on Ramoth hill,
- Their song was soft and low;
- The blossoms in the sweet May wind
- Were falling like the snow.
- The blossoms drifted at our feet,
- The orchard birds sang clear;
- The sweetest and the saddest day
- It seemed of all the year.
- For, more to me than birds or flowers,
- My playmate left her home,
- And took with her the laughing spring,
- The music and the bloom.
- She kissed the lips of kith and kin,
- She laid her hand in mine:
- What more could ask the bashful boy
- Who fed her father's kine?
- She left us in the bloom of May:
- The constant years told o'er
- Their seasons with as sweet May morns,
- But she came back no more.
- I walk, with noiseless feet, the round
- Of uneventful years;
- Still o'er and o'er I sow the spring
- And reap the autumn ears.
- She lives where all the golden year
- Her summer roses blow;
- The dusky children of the sun
- Before her come and go.
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