A Summer Wooing
The wind went wooing the rose,
—For the rose was fair.
How the rough wind won her, who knows?
—But he left her there.
Far away from her grave he blows:
—Does the free wind care?
—For the rose was fair.
How the rough wind won her, who knows?
—But he left her there.
Far away from her grave he blows:
—Does the free wind care?
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