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[The woodruff]
The woodruff, smelling like new-mown hay,That Munichers put in their Wine of May,
When they merrily welcome the flowery time
With feast and music, with dance and rhyme,
(A festival made to sweeten the year,
To hope, and, after, to memory dear)
In the piny valleys beyond the plain
Whereto the city looks far and fain
Thro' many a sultry summer day.
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