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ISSUE:  Winter 1926

The moon lets down her glistening hair
That ripples on the lake;
They say, who climbs its golden strands
Her heart may take.

Once, was a Princess in a tower,
A cruel one attending;
A Prince who climbed too many times
To make a happy ending.

And were I bold enough to try
And mount so bright a stair,
How do I know that I would find
Only a Lady there?


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