Anges Mary Frances Robinson expresses her admiration of a woman through the process of plants growing tall and beautiful in the Spring.
The wind blows down the dusty street;
And through my soul that grieves-
It brings a sudden odour sweet:
A smell of popular leaves.
O leaves the herald in the spring,
O freshness young and pure,
Into my weary soul you bring
The vigor to endure
The wood is near, but out of sight,
Where all the populars grow;
Straight up and tall and silver white;
They quiver in a row.
My love was out of sight, but near;
And through my soul that grieves
A sudden memory wafts her here
As fresh as popular leaves.
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