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[I saw the Spring go by, her mouth a thread]
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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99

[I saw the Spring go by, her mouth a thread]

I saw the Spring go by, her mouth a thread
Of wild-rose red,
Blowing a golden oat;
And now, a crown of barley on her head,
The Summer comes, a poppy at her throat.