NOTHING TO DO.
A STRIP of snowiest linen
Half broidered and stamped in blue,
And the gleam of a threadless needle
Piercing the pattern through:
The needle is ready, yet the sweet little lady
Sits sighing for something to do.
Half broidered and stamped in blue,
And the gleam of a threadless needle
Piercing the pattern through:
The needle is ready, yet the sweet little lady
Sits sighing for something to do.
Heaped on the table beside her
Blossoms of every hue;
Delicate, odorous roses—
The rarest that ever grew:
The vase stands ready while the sweet little lady
Sits wishing for something to do.
Blossoms of every hue;
Delicate, odorous roses—
The rarest that ever grew:
The vase stands ready while the sweet little lady
Sits wishing for something to do.
Half hid under flowers a volume
In daintiest gold and blue,
Just parted, as if it would open
At "The Miller's Daughter" for you:
The book lies ready, yet the sweet little lady
Sits sighing for something to do.
In daintiest gold and blue,
Just parted, as if it would open
At "The Miller's Daughter" for you:
The book lies ready, yet the sweet little lady
Sits sighing for something to do.
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