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POEMS.
85
Oh, alas, the winter pale,
Lieth all abroad;
The birds are away,
Where the spring doth stay,
Down beneath those skies,
Skies, where summer lies.
Ay, the earth doth ache at heart
For the sweet warm air,
The songs that will thrill
The light that's so chill,
And the pain it knows
Is the weight of snows.
