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POEMS.
71
XLVI.
HEART not so heavy as mine,
Wending late home,
As it passed my window
Whistled itself a tune, —
A careless snatch, a ballad,
A ditty of the street;
Yet to my irritated ear
An anodyne so sweet,
It was as if a bobolink,
Sauntering this way,
Carolled and mused and carolled,
Then bubbled slow away.
