What we touch the hems of
On a summer's day;
What is only walking
Just a bridge away;
That which sings so, speaks so,
When there's no one here, —
Will the frock I wept in
Answer me to wear?
What we touch the hems of
On a summer's day;
What is only walking
Just a bridge away;
That which sings so, speaks so,
When there's no one here, —
Will the frock I wept in
Answer me to wear?