Page:Poems by Ingelow, Jean.djvu/22

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Divided.
Flusheth the rise with her purple favour, Gloweth the cleft with her golden ring,'Twixt the two brown butterflies waver Lightly settle, and sleepily swing.

We two walk till the purple dieth And short dry grass under foot is brown,But one little streak at a distance lieth Green like a ribbon to prank the down.
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