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Autumn poets sing

Besides the Autumn poets sing A few prosaic days A little this side of the snow And that side of the Haze
A few incisive Mornings A few Ascetic Eves Gone -- Mr. Bryant's "Golden Rod" And Mr. Thomson's "sheaves."
Still, is the bustle in the Brook Sealed are the spicy valves Mesmeric fingers softly touch The Eyes of many Elves Perhaps a squirrel may remain My sentiments to share Grant me, Oh Lord, a sunny mind Thy windy will to bear!
Emily Dickinson

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