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My mind lets go a thousand things, Like dates of wars and deaths of kings, And yet recalls the very hour- "Twas noon by yonder village tower, And on the last blue moon in May- The wind came briskly up this way, Crisping the brooke beside the road; Then, pausing here, set down its load Of pine-scents, and shook listlessly Two petals from that wild-rose tree. |
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