Page:Poems Bushnell.djvu/23

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Out of Season

A few late birds, up there above,
Keep calling down, "There's hope for all,
When gray old hearts grow green with love
And fruit-trees blossom in the fall."

At any rate, one thing is plain:
That it is quite worth while to wait,
Since not to trees nor yet to men
Does Heaven like to say, "Too late."

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