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She does not know that rooms are bleak and bare,
That poverty dwells with us all the while;
It is enough for her that I am there
To praise her little deeds, to sing and smile.
She does not know that heartache hovers near
Above the place where lie her dolls asleep,
That eyes grow wide and dark with naked fear
And life seems such a tired trust to keep.
Sunlight to her is earth's most precious gold,
Daisies and buttercups are jewels rare,
A clump of mignonette is wealth untold,
Her crown a wreath of flowers in her hair.
No banquet hall in ...