She is not fair to outward view As many maidens be Her loveliness I never knew Until she smiled on me Oh then I saw her eye was bright, A well of love, a spring of light.
Browning, old fellow,
Your leaves grow yellow,
Beginning to mellow
As seasons pass.
Your cover is wrinkled,
And stained and sprinkled,
And warped and crinkled
From sleep on the grass.
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