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Songs of the Seasons

And Other Poems. By Thomas Tod Stoddart

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In the glory-time of cherries,
When they hang, like orbs of coral,
Gazing out o'er treasures floral;
At the feast of ruddy berries,
When the circulating bowl
Plenished is with creams of clover,
Ere the banquet was nigh over,
From the lips of the Great Soul
Of universe, a voice descended,
“Summer, thy brief reign is ended.”

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So, I've come into possession
Of the flower-wealth, in part,
Only to feel sad at heart
And lament my own accession.