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i am weary of being bitter and weary of being wise
in may
the rain was over, and the brilliant air
short and sweet, and we've come to the end of it
i stood by the open casement
had he and i but met
no prey am i of poor thoughts
when the wind works against us in the dark
if it
the meadow was creeping
why do you always stand there shivering
lo! 'tis a gala night
in september

 



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