The Dainty Virtue Poem by Gamaliel Bradford

The Dainty Virtue

Rating: 3.5


She fled me through the meadow,
She fled me o'er the hill.
With such a fling she fled, oh,
She may be flying still.

But doubtless she grew weary
By thicket or by wood.—
A dainty virtue, dearie,
That fled when none pursued.

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Gamaliel Bradford

Gamaliel Bradford

Boston, Massachusetts
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