285 The Robin`s my Criterion for Tune— Because I grow—where Robins do— But, were I Cuckoo born— I`d swear by him— The ode familiar—rules the Noon— The Buttercup`s, my Whim for Bloom— Because, we`re Orchard sprung— But, were I Britain born, I`d Daisies spurn— None but the Nut—October fit— Because, through dropping it, The Seasons flit—I`m taught— Without the Snow`s Tableau Winter, were lie—to me— Because I see—New Englandly— The Queen, discerns like me— Provincially—SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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