Please Don't Think Me Negligent Or Rude.

So Up I Got In Anger, And Took A Book I Had, And Put A Ribbon On My Hair To Please A Passing Lad. And, "one Thing There's No Getting By -- I've Been A Wicked Girl," Said I; But If I Can't Be Sorry, Why, I Might As Well Be Glad!

I Know I Am But Summer To Your Heart, And Not The Full Four Seasons Of The Year; And You Must Welcome From Another Part Such Noble Moods As Are Not Mine, My Dear. No Gracious Weight Of Golden Fruits To Sell Have I, Nor Any Wise And Wintry Thing; And I Have Loved You All Too Long And Well To Carry Still The High Sweet Breast Of Spring. Wherefore I Say: O Love, As Summer Goes, I Must Be Gone, Steal Forth With Silent Drums, That You May Hail Anew The Bird And Rose When I Come Back To You, As Summer Comes. Else Will You Seek, At Some Not Distant Time, Even Your Summer In Another Clime.

Oh, Friend, Forget Not, When You Fain Would Note In Me A Beauty That Was Never Mine, How First You Knew Me In A Book I Wrote, How First You Loved Me For A Written Line.

Please Don't Think Me Negligent Or Rude. I Am Both, In Effect, Of Course, But Please Don't Think Me Either.

Beautiful As A Dandelion-blossom Golden In The Green Grass, This Life Can Be.