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A WEED.
25
A WEED.
Out come some little pale leaves
At the spring's call,
But the harsh north winds blow,
And the sad rains fall.
At the spring's call,
But the harsh north winds blow,
And the sad rains fall.
Would'st try to keep it warm
With fickle breath?
He must, who would give life,
Be Lord of death.
With fickle breath?
He must, who would give life,
Be Lord of death.