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I9 2 BRIDGES.
So, if you would be truly wise, And risk a lecture never,
Don t wake the baby sleeper, friend, And be beloved for ever.
��BRIDGES.
BY the still meadow-stream, Where the childish feet strayed, Two eyes, bright and wistful,
Looked downward afraid At the sodden green rushes,
The soft rippling flow As it wrinkled the face
In the water below ; Across at the cowslips
That, golden and gay, Nodded softly defiance,
Then coaxed in their way, Till a pair of strong arms
Laid a plank on the clover, And glad little feet
Took the eager hands over.
That was long time agone.
Bridges many I know, With their second selves painted
In waters below,
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