PETIT JEAN . \Vhat T hen? After springtime' s dancing fairies Leave the blue bells on the green, What then? After scorching heat at midday , And the blinding s ummer' s sun, What then? When the golden leaves lie buried, And the autumn time has fled, What then? When the blinding storms of winter Drive the ~mows into my heart, And that mystic, numbing potion Lulls my so ul into a sleep, What then? 74 P. M . K. ?
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