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COTTAGE DAYS
I
As small winds at a window
With just as little art,
These gusts of song come calling
At the casement of your heart
Open a tiny chink in it,
And let them in, I pray!
They will but throw a country kiss
To you—and run away.
II
The Study
My room has bare white walls,
—So every sunbeam bright
Runs naked round my room
In unoffended light.
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