I am pale as crocus grows
Close beside a rose-tree's root;
Whosoe'er would reach the rose,
Treads the crocus underfoot.
I, like May-bloom on thorn-tree,
Thou, like merry summer-bee,-
Fit that I be plucked for thee!
Between the Lines.
Literature
The 2010 CIA World Factbook
The Tragedy of Pudd'nhead Wilson
A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court
The Motor Girls
The Moorland Cottage
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