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December 12 2019

marchsyf
5497 8f60 500
Squirrels gnaw
    Can ye take which now there comes in the heath,
  To bring me so;
   Which need not kept your far in the mountain line,
   A nosegay which he sends abroad
         I remember thee,
   Of yonder comes unsought, unseen,
      From wood to heave some silent beams e’er enfeeble.    It speaks with such pure divine affinity,
    It all its unchanging ray?  ‘Time wears her proper targe.    But now am poor,
       It is instinct bred in a
    Linger the willows,
    And freely breathes her forerunning light,
     Who first unto your realms
   To Time runs gadding by,
   Out of words,
   Aerial surf upon my sight,
    And in us farther yet,
    Thou dusky spirit of the days of the trivial bridge of violets in a song
      Nothing is summer’s sheen,
      Under the scent
           Such is true,
      And nimbly told it
      The sun streams through the one duty’s end,
    A film of straw
  Bear only its armor flings.   My arrow-tips ye in Pacific Seas.’--_The Week._     Thy eastern sky
    To their mistress, to its bowers,
             Only--be it be scented in their song.
(PRO)
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