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In Late Fall.
By Madison Julius Cawein
Such days as break the wild bird's heart;
Such days as kill it and its songs;
A death which knows a sweeter part
Of days to which such death belongs.
And now old eyes are filled with tears,
As with the rain the frozen flowers;
Time moves so slowly one but fears
The burthen on his wasted powers.
And so he stopped;--and thou art dead!
And that is found which once was feared:--
A farewell to thy gray, gray head,
A goodnight to thy goodly beard!
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