Out of Season
A few late birds, up there above,
Keep calling down, "There's hope for all,
When gray old hearts grow green with love
And fruit-trees blossom in the fall."
Keep calling down, "There's hope for all,
When gray old hearts grow green with love
And fruit-trees blossom in the fall."
At any rate, one thing is plain:
That it is quite worth while to wait,
Since not to trees nor yet to men
Does Heaven like to say, "Too late."
That it is quite worth while to wait,
Since not to trees nor yet to men
Does Heaven like to say, "Too late."
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