MALISON
Softly upon the forehead fair,
Crisping the poppy-perfumed hair,
Its winnowing ice-birds lilt and go,—
But no reproach, Elise, oh no—
Only the rustle of the snow!
’Twill skim thy throat not rude or redly—
Its dapper feet,
Slippered with sleet,
Shall into thy bonnet and bossom retreat
With a stinging like snow,
Which is woe—
Only my curse, my curse you know!
Not rude or redly—
Nothing but snow!
As shy—as smooth—as cool—as slow—
As deadly.
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