letra de spring pastoral - mary howe
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liza, go steep your long white hands
in the cool waters of that spring
which bubbles up through shiny sands
the colour of a wild-dove’s wing
dabble your hands, and steep them well
until those nails are pearly white
now rosier than a laurel bell;
then come to me at candlelight
lay your cold hands across my brows
and i shall sleep, and i shall dream
of silver-pointed willow boughs
dipping their fingers in a stream
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