V.—HER SIGH
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When she utters a sigh 'Tis a breath from the roses, And a-hovering nigh, When she utters a sigh, The bees wonder why No garden discloses. When she utters a sigh 'Tis a breath from the roses. |
VI.—HER RING
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Her ring goes round her finger. Oh, foolish thing! Were I a ring, I'd not "go round"—I'd linger! |
VII.—HER FAULTS
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Of faults she has but one, And that is, she has none. |
VIII.—HER VOICE
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Sweet and soothing, rhythmic, tuneful, Dulcet, mellow, unbassoonful, Zither, 'cello, lute, guitar, And there you are! |
IX.—HER LOVE