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Title: April Vespers
Author: Eugene Field [ More Titles by Field]
The turtles drum in the pulseless bay, The crickets creak in the prickful hedge, The bull-frogs boom in the puddling sedge And the whoopoe whoops its vesper lay Away In the twilight soft and gray. Two lovers stroll in the glinting gloam-- His hand in her'n and her'n in his-- She blushes deep--he is talking biz-- They hug and hop as they listless roam-- They roam-- It's late when they get back home. Down by the little wicket-gate, Down where the creepful ivy grows, Down where the sweet nasturtium blows, A box-toed parent lies in wait-- In wait For the maiden and her mate. Let crickets creak and bull-frogs boom, The whoopoe wail in the distant dell-- Their tuneful throbs will ne'er dispel The planted pain and the rooted gloom-- The gloom Of the lover's dismal doom.
[The end] Eugene Field's poem: April Vespers ________________________________________________
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