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CHAPTER I.
THE SEASON.
And yet it is a wasted heart:
It is a wasted mind
That seeks not in the inner world
Its happiness to find;
For happiness is like the bird
That broods above its nest,
And finds beneath its folded wings,
Life's dearest, and its best.
A little space is all that hope
Or love can ever take;
The wider that the circle spreads,
The sooner it will break.
Blanchard’s title is:
HAPPINESS WITHIN
