The world outside
IF my poor words were colours,
A magic brush my pen,
Ah me, what radiant pages
My songs would make you then.
The fairest tints of morning
Should picture hopes for you,
My joy in your sweet living,
The sky's divinest blue.
In purple and in crimson
My thoughts of you should twine,
And through them all my love, dear,
In purest gold would shine.
D. Radford
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| Section | Subjects: Abstract |
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