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WINTER-SONG
To him who doth remember,
June evermore is near:
He breathes her rose amid the snows,
And still he seems to hear
The lark from wintry fields arise
Into the blue of summer skies.
Both April and December
Time doth to mortals bring,
But in the seed, for future need,
Eternal waits the spring;
And there be stars that never set,
For him who knows not to forget.
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