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Eugene Field - A ParaphraseEugene Field - A Paraphrase
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How happens it, my cruel miss,   You`re always giving me the mitten? You seem to have forgotten this:   That you no longer are a kitten! A woman that has reached the years   Of that which people call discretion Should put aside all childish fears   And see in courtship no transgression. A mother`s solace may be sweet,   But Hymen`s tenderness is sweeter; And though all virile love be meet,   You`ll find the poet`s love is metre.
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