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LOVE IN EXILE.
XIX.
Once on a golden day,
In the golden month of May,
I gave my heart away—
Little birds were singing.
I culled my heart in truth,
Wet with the dews of youth,
For love to take, forsooth—
Little flowers were springing.
Love sweetly laughed at this,
And between kiss and kiss
Fled with my heart in his:
Winds warmly blowing.
