On a Proposed Trip South
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hey tell me on the morrow I must leaveThis winter eyrie for a southern flightAnd truth to tell I tremble with delightAt thought of such unheralded reprieve. E'er have I known December in a weaveOf blanched crystal, when, thrice one short nightPacked full with magic, and O blissful sight!N'er May so warmly doth for April grieve. To in a breath's space wish the winter throughAnd lo, to see it fading! Where, oh, whereIs caract could endow this princely boon? Yet I have found it and shall shortly viewThe lush high grasses, shortly see in airGay birds and hear the bees make heavy droon.
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