They come! the merry summer months of beauty, song, and flowers;
They come! the gladsome months that bring thick leafiness to bowers.
Up, up, my heart! and walk abroad; fling cark and care aside;
Seek silent hills, or rest thyself where peaceful waters glide;
Or, underneath the shadow vast of patriarchal tree,
Scan through its leaves the cloudless sky in...
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The Months have ends — the Years — a knot —
No Power can untie
To stretch a little further
A Skein of Misery —
The Earth lays back these tired lives
In her mysterious Drawers —
Too tenderly, that any doubt
An ultimate Repose —
The manner of the Children —
...