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XVIII.
THE KITTEN,
AND
THE FALLING LEAVES.
That way look, my Infant, lo!
What a pretty baby show!
See the Kitten on the Wall,
Sporting with the leaves that fall,
Withered leaves—one—two—and three—
From the lofty Elder-tree!
Through the calm and frosty air
Of this morning bright and fair
Eddying round and round they sink
Softly, slowly: one might think,
From the motions that are made,
Every little leaf convey'd
Sylph or Faery hither tending,—
To this lower world descending,
Each invisible and mute,