Roses laughed in her pretty hair
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Roses laughed in her pretty hair,
Shading her eyes from the sun’s rude stare
A little hand was prettily raised,
Nor ever though it might be praised.
Five little fingers, soft and white,
A dimple, a sheer kiss of delight.
But, miss, a hand that I held in mine,
Some nights ago was e’en more fine.
A hand that I must grant more praise,
Three aces and a pair of treys.