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Robert Laurence Binyon - "Ah, now this happy month is gone"
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Ah, now this happy month is gone,
 Not now, my heart, complain,
 Nor rail at Time because so soon
 He takes his own again.

 He takes his own, the weeks, the hours,
 But leaves the best with thee;
 Seeds of imperishable flowers
 In fields of memory.
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