it was the autumn of the year!
the strawberry-leaves were red and sere,
october's airs were fresh and chill,
when, pausing on the windy hill,
the hill that overlooks the sea,
you spoke confidingly to me,-
me, whom your keen artistic sight
has not yet learned to read aright,
since i have veiled my heart from you,
and loved you better than you knew.
-Elizabeth (Aker) Allen
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