My lady gives such blessed alms, More precious far than golden dole— The friendly word, the tender smile, The gentle, gracious courtesy. She doth surround you with such grace Of look, and word, and action, that, Like ice-bound brooks that stumbling go On thro' the winter's dark and cold, Till Spring, with fingers light and warm, Stoops down and draws the glittering bolts, And sets the brooklet bubbling free And leaping light with cadenced steps— To some poor stranger heart, may be, Had chanced upon a wintry time, Receiving from my lady's eyes The largesse of her kindly smile, Feels Springtime warmth come creeping back, And all its burdens strangely light.
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