1 Our sister sayeth such and such, And we must bow to her behests; Our sister toileth overmuch, Our little maid that hath no breasts. 2 A field untilled, a web unwove, A flower withheld from sun or bee, An alien in the courts of Love, And—teacher unto such as we! 3 We love her, but we laugh the while, We laugh, but sobs are mixed with laughter; Our sister hath no time to smile, She knows not what must follow after. 4 Wind of the South, arise and blow, From beds of spice thy locks shake free; Breathe on her heart that she may know, Breathe on her eyes that she may see. 5 Alas! we vex her with our mirth, And maze her with most tender scorn, Who stands beside the gates of Birth, Herself a child—a child unborn! 6 Our sister sayeth such and such, And we must bow to her behests; Our sister toileth overmuch, Our little maid that hath no breasts.
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