  This is her bonnet, with ribbons arrayed, Clearly a calico ambuscade; It dates from the days of the bricks of straw— This is the bonnet my mother wore. This is the bonnet my mother donned When she walked with a youth by Plymouth Pond; ’Twas the night she wore her beads of jade, And father fell into the ambuscade. This is the bonnet I found in a chest, Daisies and bows in a lavender nest; It looks like the plumes the Persians wore, But it must have had wonderful power to draw. |
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