18
When she would go from me, can I reprove her;
When she says “No,” is there naught I can do?
Is she too young that my songs do not move her,
Or is my tongue unaccustomed to sue?
Ah, but I know of a way that is better,
I will not show her my grief, but a smile—
Smilingly, when she would go, I will let her,
Possibly then she will linger awhile.
When she says “No,” is there naught I can do?
Is she too young that my songs do not move her,
Or is my tongue unaccustomed to sue?
Ah, but I know of a way that is better,
I will not show her my grief, but a smile—
Smilingly, when she would go, I will let her,
Possibly then she will linger awhile.
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