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Hark !  You shall hear it when the guSts subside,
GhoStly, and silent as a black bat's Might,
Whisper of leaves that flit across the night.
These, since November tossed them far and wide
Out of the woodland, seeking where to hide.
Crouch in dark corners from the cold moonlight.
Till winter come and whirl them out of sight.
Swept on the Storm across a countryside.
So is it ever : summer cannot Stay ;
Soon, ah 1 too soon, is bitter winter here;
Tendrils of Spring will wither in a day,
Sunshine we loved at sunset disappear.
Time, who can take, within the flying year.
Blossom or fruit, will sweep the leaves away.

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