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THE FIRST OF MAY
A MEMORY
The waters make a music low:
The river reeds
Are trembling to the tunes of long ago —
Dead days and deeds
Become alive again, as on
I float, and float,
Through shadows of the golden summers gone
And springs remote.
Above my head the trees bloom out
In white and red
Great blossoms, that make glad the air about;
And old suns shed
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