  I SEE you now, your autumn gown In wanton fashion hung, Your crimson scarf half rakishly, To trifling breezes flung. I was distressed and sad to think You did not even care. But once your harp sang low and sweet You breathed a solemn prayer. You sang soft broken numbers Sad as your soul’s distress, And I loved you no matter how wanton Or scarlet or scanty your dress. |
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