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by J. R. Eastwood

In grass-grown, sheltered ways and green,
Where gleams of glory glance between
The rustling leaves that shroud the lane,
I walk and talk with Lil again.

I hold my love by both her hands:
The sun that lights a thousand lands,
Will rise for me, will rise again,
Will search for Lil and search in vain.

The dying day will linger still,
With silver stars, for love of Lil:
The breeze will murmur and complain
Thro' all the dark, deserted lane.

And looks of love in lifted eyes,
As now, to-night, will then arise,
With happy thoughts, with thoughts of pain,
With Lil no longer in the lane.

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