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1862–1900

Two Kinds.

Thomas Winthrop Hall

Oh, her eyes, her beautiful eyes! How they melt when she sobs or she sighs! How they droop When she blushes!

How they flash When she crushes The love she's compelled to disguise! Oh, her i's, her beautiful i's!

Who can tell them apart though he tries From her m's Or her e's, N's, or u's

As you please In her letters? I offer a prize.

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Two Kinds. · Thomas Winthrop Hall · Poetry Cove