She had time in the afternoons to do crewelwork and embroidery, no longer occupied by the constant spinning of wool. Annabel shines like a star in the darkness, Rosamund queens it a rose, deep rose; But the lady I love is like sunshine in April weather, She gleams and gladdens, she warms—and goes. Sulphurous poisons assaulted her nostrils as she threw the stone to one side of its resting place.
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