The Goose-Girl

 Spring rides no horses down the hill,
But comes on foot, a goose-girl still.

And all the loveliest things there be
Come simply, so, it seems to me.

If ever I said, in grief or pride,
I tired of honest things, I lied:
And should be cursed forevermore
With Love in laces, like a whore,
And neighbours cold, and friends unsteady,
And Spring on horseback, like a lady!

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