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James Whitcomb Riley


Pansies! Pansies! How I love you, pansies!

Jaunty-faced, laughing-lipped and dewy-eyed with glee;

Would my song might blossom out in little five-leaf stanzas

As delicate in fancies

As your beauty is to me!

But my eyes shall smile on you, and my hands enfold you,

Pet, caress, and lift you to the lips that love you so,

That, shut ever in the years that may mildew or mold you,

My fancy shall behold you

Fair as in the long ago.