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The Poetical Works of Elizabeth Barrett Browning
img img The Poetical Works of Elizabeth Barrett Browning img Chapter 167 No.167
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Chapter 167 No.167

The little maiden cometh,

She cometh shy and slow;

I ween she seeth through her lids

They drop adown so low:

Her tresses meet her small bare feet,

She stands and speaketh nought,

Yet blusheth red as if she said

The name she only thought.

The river floweth on.

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