Page:Flint and Feather (1914).djvu/84

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Sweet, rosy April—laughing, sighing, waiting
  Until the gateway swings,
And she and Lent can kiss between the grating
  Of Easter's tissue wings.
Too brief the bliss—the parting comes with sorrow.
  Good-bye dear Lent, good-bye!
We'll watch your fading wings outlined to-morrow
  Against the far blue sky.