SHORT SKIRTS.
[For Tjre Priss.] So thick the hodgo and high, Beyond we could not see, Within that garden dark What mysteries must be I How stealthily we peep, How guiltily we spy, How breathlessly approach, Bow fearfully creep by! With axe and pick they come Make the hedge to fall, Revealing, revealing,— No mystery at all. Just a common garden, Lawn and gaudy beds, \ll the mystery dwelt In our silly heads. How carelessly we glance Or absently we gaie, Gone spell, thrill, magic, Of the old days.
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Bibliographic details
Press, Volume LXIII, Issue 18918, 5 February 1927, Page 13
Word Count
89SHORT SKIRTS. Press, Volume LXIII, Issue 18918, 5 February 1927, Page 13
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