Frothings: Millers and Coquettes
THE MILLER .
It sweeps about the lantern's glare,
With wondering wing;
And has no sting,
It knows not Death is in the air—
Poor thing—
THE LOVER .
He knows not she is a coquette,
And yet will fling
His life just blossoming,
To please her idle whim, her luring stare,
Poor thing!
It sweeps about the lantern's glare,
With wondering wing;
And has no sting,
It knows not Death is in the air—
Poor thing—
THE LOVER .
He knows not she is a coquette,
And yet will fling
His life just blossoming,
To please her idle whim, her luring stare,
Poor thing!
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