Rose Hawthorne Lathrop

First Bloom of Love

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O girl of spring! O brown-eyed girl!
Gathering violets near the woods,
Whose coy young petals half unfurl
The mystery of their dulcet moods.

O blushing girl! O girl of spring!
I hear no answer move the air;
Yet eyelids hovering on the wing
Reveal deep meanings curtained there.

O girl of spring! O spring of love!
Let silent violets be the speech
From you to me, and let them prove
What maiden silence will not teach!

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