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57
PROMISE.
The first day came from the bitter north,
Was there ever so cold a spring!
But the sun shone out for an hour at noon,
And we heard the cuckoo sing.
The next day woke with a cheerless blast
And a sky that was gray with snow,
But we heard the corncrake tune his pipe
In the meadow down below.
The third day sobbed with a dismal rain,
The very trees looked numb,
But the swallows arrived on the old roof tree
And we knew that the summer would come.
