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I'm saying every dayI’m saying every day
“If I should be a Queen, tomorrow” –
I’d do this way –
And so I deck, a little,

If it be, I wake a Bourbon,
None on me, bend supercilious –
With “This was she –
Begged in the Market place –
Yesterday.”

Court is a stately place –
I’ve heard men say –
So I loop my apron, against the Majesty
With bright Pins of Buttercup –
That not too plain –
Rank — overtake me –

And perch my Tongue
On Twigs of singing — rather high –
But this, might be my brief Term
To qualify –

Put from my simple speech all plain word –
Take other accents, as such I heard
Though but for the Cricket — just,
And but for the Bee –
Not in all the Meadow –
One accost me –

Better to be ready –
Than did next morn
Meet me in Aragon –
My old Gown — on –

And the surprised Air
Rustics — wear –
Summoned — unexpectedly –
To Exeter –

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A Mien to move a Queen --A Mien to move a Queen –
Half Child — Half Heroine –
An Orleans in the Eye
That puts its manner by
For humbler Company
When none are near
Even a Tear –
Its frequent Visitor –

A Bonnet like a Duke –
And yet a Wren’s Peruke
Were not so shy
Of Goer by –
And Hands — so slight –
They would elate a Sprite
With Merriment –

A Voice that Alters — Low
And on the Ear can go
Like Let of Snow –
Or shift supreme –
As tone of Realm
On Subjects Diadem –

Too small — to fear –
Too distant — to endear –
And so Men Compromise
And just — revere –

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In Ebon Box, when years have flownIn Ebon Box, when years have flown
To reverently peer,
Wiping away the velvet dust
Summers have sprinkled there!

To hold a letter to the light –
Grown Tawny now, with time –
To con the faded syllables
That quickened us like Wine!

Perhaps a Flower’s shrivelled check
Among its stores to find –
Plucked far away, some morning –
By gallant — mouldering hand!

A curl, perhaps, from foreheads
Our Constancy forgot –
Perhaps, an Antique trinket –
In vanished fashions set!

And then to lay them quiet back –
And go about its care –
As if the little Ebon Box
Were none of our affair!

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