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George MacDonald - A Year SongGeorge MacDonald - A Year Song
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Sighing above, Rustling below, Thorough the woods The winds go. Beneath, dead crowds; Above, life bare; And the besom tempest Sweeps the air: Heart, leave thy woe: Let the dead things go. Through the brown Gold doth push; Misty green Veils the bush. Here a twitter, There a croak! They are coming— The spring-folk! Heart, be not numb; Let the live things come. Through the beech The winds go, With gentle speech, Long and slow. The grass is fine, And soft to lie in: The sun doth shine The blue sky in: Heart, be alive; Let the new things thrive. Round again! Here art thou, A rimy fruit On a bare bough! Winter comes, Winter and snow; And a weary sighing To fall and go! Heart, thy hour shall be; Thy dead will comfort thee.
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