Ladybird, ladybird! fly away home!
The field-mouse has gone to her nest,
The daisies have shut up their sleepy red eyes,
And the bees and the birds are at rest. ...
Why do I love?
Is it for men to choose
The hour of the hushed night when crowned with dews
From its sea grave the morning star shall wake?
Lo, while we drowsed, it rose on our heart's ache,
And all our heaven was red with the day's hues,
And glad birds chaunted from the trees above.
So was it with my heart that might not choose
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