Melilot
Behind the house is the millet-plot,
And past the millet, the stile;
And then a hill where melilot
Grows with wild camomile.
There was a youth who bade me goodbye
Where the hill rises to meet the sky.
I think my heart broke, but I have forgot
All but the scent of the white melilot.
And past the millet, the stile;
And then a hill where melilot
Grows with wild camomile.
There was a youth who bade me goodbye
Where the hill rises to meet the sky.
I think my heart broke, but I have forgot
All but the scent of the white melilot.
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