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 | Lyrics by John B Tabb |  |
20
THE PINE-TREE.
With whispers of futurityAnd echoes of the past,
Twin birds a shelter find in thee
Against the wintry blast,—
The fledgling Hope, that preens her wing,
Too timorous to fly,
And Memory, that comes to sing
Her coranach, and die.
| Lyrics by John B Tabb | |