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TO A YOUNG GIRL AT A WINDOW
The Poor Old Soul plods down the street,
Contented, and forgetting
How Youth was wild, and Spring was wild
And how her life is setting;
Contented, and forgetting
How Youth was wild, and Spring was wild
And how her life is setting;
And you lean out to watch her there,
And pity, nor remember,
That Youth is hard, and Life is hard,
And quiet is December.
And pity, nor remember,
That Youth is hard, and Life is hard,
And quiet is December.
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