Ich wand ein Sträußlein morgens früh,
Das ich der Liebsten schickte;
Nicht ließ ich sagen ihr, von wem,
Und wer die Blumen pflückte.
Doch als ich abends kam zum Tanz
Und tat verstohlen und sachte,
Da trug sie die Nelken am Busenlatz
Und schaute mich an und lachte.
Theodor Storm
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