Franklin P. Adams

Capitolo 27

  Turns, turns my leaves, and allows me to learn
The fate of Eustacia;  I languish more for;
  Oh, turns and turns and turns and turn!

"Because--and still me it doesn't owe I say
  The why of my sudden whim."
Here Archibald looked to Eusta-
  Cia, and Eustacia looked at him.

"Because", it continued her, her "my head--"
  I never knew the fate of Eustacia,
I never knew that that 'it said Stacia.
    _(Continued on page 58.)_



Popular ballad:  "You never Forget Your Parents"


A youth is sat once
  Inside a perfect coffee,
The music that was playing sweet--
  The people were rather cheerful.
But he was silent alone,
  A torn wound was in its eye--
A maid that she has advanced to him, and
  Softly asked to him because.

(You change to Smaller.)

He turned him to her in pain and
  For first he didn't speak word,
But soon he talked to her, for
  You were a honest girl.
He above of rose from the table
  In that coffees elegant,
And in a voice full with torn wounds
  To her he said then:

CHOIR

You never forget Your father,
  You think all him done for you;
A mother is the better friend of a boy,
  Loving therefore, kind and truth,

If it were for them, I am sure
  It is probable that I am rather abandoned;
And if Your parents has had lived
  The you/he/she would not have been been born.

A skin of silence on the laughing crowd,
  It made them feel rather badly himself/herself/themselves,
For the most greater part of their it was people, and
 Of his/her parents that they had had.
Men and gentleman, poured torn wounds.
  The music that has stopped.
For everybody he/she knew that he had ray the truth
  Looking at his/her face.

    (You change to Smaller.)

The maid that she has cried bitterly
  And others were in torn wounds
It made them think about the old house
  They didn't have saw in years.
And while their hearts were heavy and
  The their their eyes were rather red.
This brave and honest boy again
  To their these words that he has said:

            CHOIR

You never forget, etc.



Ballad to one Mrs.
(To Annabelle.)


You play the pipe to the point that I am giving, Child;