Beauty's Autumn
Her eyes like gold, her neck like marble shows,
Her lips more lovely than the reddest rose,
Soft gleams her breast, her cheeks like crystal bright,
E'en silver Thetis' feet were not more white.
Grey thistle-down her tresses dark may stain,
I heed it not, nor scorn the ripened grain.
Her lips more lovely than the reddest rose,
Soft gleams her breast, her cheeks like crystal bright,
E'en silver Thetis' feet were not more white.
Grey thistle-down her tresses dark may stain,
I heed it not, nor scorn the ripened grain.
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