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When a friend calls to me from the road / And slows his horse to a meaning walk, …
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My long two-pointed ladder’s sticking through a tree / Toward heaven still, …
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The well was dry beside the door, / And so we went with pail and can …
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Something there is that doesn’t love a wall, / That sends the frozen ground-swell under it, …
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There was never a sound beside the wood but one, / And that was my long scythe whispering to the ground. …
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My sorrow, when she’s here with me, / Thinks these dark days of autumn rain …
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Out through the fields and the woods / And over the walls I have wended; …
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When the wind works against us in the dark, / And pelts with snow …
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There were three in the meadow by the brook, / Gathering up windrows, piling haycocks up, …