But these things also are Spring`s - On banks by the roadside the grass Long-dead that is greyer now Than all the Winter it was; The shell of a little snail bleached In the grass; chip of flint, and mite Of chalk; and the small birds` dung In splashes of purest white: All the white things a man mistakes For earliest violets Who seeks through Winter`s ruins Something to pay Winter`s debts, While the North blows, and starling flocks By chattering on and on Keep their spirits up in the mist, And Spring`s here, Winter`s not gone.SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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