Page:Renascenceotherp00milluoft.pdf/79

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WHEN THE YEAR GROWS OLD

I cannot but remember
When the year grows old-
October-November-
How she disliked the cold!

She used to watch the swallows
Go down aeross the sky,
And turn from the window
With a little sharp sigh

And often when the brown leaves

Were brittle on the ground,

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