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[The gold-green blooms of the spicebush burn]
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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190

[The gold-green blooms of the spicebush burn]

The gold-green blooms of the spicebush burn
Lighting the wood at every turn;

191

Like the starry tufts of the sassafras,
Whose fragrance thrills us as we pass,
From out their patents of gold they spill
A faint aroma that haunts the hill.