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| Impressions Part 1 - Le Jardin The lily's withered chalice falls Around its rod of dusty gold, And from the beech trees on the wold The last wood-pigeon coos and calls. The gaudy leonine sunflower Hangs black and barren on its stalk And down the wintry garden walk The dead leaves scatter, - hour by hour Pale privet-petals white as milk Are blown into a snowy mass; The roses lie upon the grass, Like little shreds of crimson silk. |