Explore "Jean" by Gilbert Parker on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Three times round has the sun gone, Jean, / Since on your lips I pressed / Mute farewells; if that pain was keen / Fair were you in your nest.
Smiling, sweetheart, I left you there; / You had no word to say; / One last touch to your brow and hair, / Then I went on my way.