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Thomas Hardy - The Puzzled Game-BirdsThomas Hardy - The Puzzled Game-Birds
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They are not those who used to feed us When we were young—they cannot be - These shapes that now bereave and bleed us? They are not those who used to feed us, - For would they not fair terms concede us? - If hearts can house such treachery They are not those who used to feed us When we were young—they cannot be!
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