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111

The Bee is not afraid of me.
I know the Butterfly.
The pretty people in the Woods
Receive me cordially—

The Brooks laugh louder when I come—
The Breezes madder play;
Wherefore mine eye thy silver mists,
Wherefore, Oh Summer's Day?

Added: 19 Aug 2002 | Last Read: 7 Jun 2025 5:23 PM | Viewed: 9517 times

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