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MY maid of maids, my sweetheart,
Strayed mid the growing grain,
Whose crested heads oft curious rose,
Nodding as roused from deep repose,
Resting entranced a moment's space
In wonder at her lovely face.
Rustles the news the gold field through,
Uprise their serried ranks anew,
Glowing with eagerness, I ween, -
Then lowly bow to Beauty's Queen.
The air its sweetest perfume brings,
While cooling wafts from angel wings
Refresh her cheeks. Her waving hair
Holds quivering sunbeams prisoned there;
The deep sea's pearl illumes her smile,
The sky's clear blue her eye the while,
But changing with her varying thought;
Of earth, sea, heaven, lacking naught, -
Eye, mind, and language all too mean
To portray her, my Beauty's Queen.
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