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Mild Is The Parting Year
Mild is the parting year and sweet
The odour of the falling spray;
Life passes on more rudely fleet,
And balmless is its closing day.
I wait its close, I court its gloom,
But mourn that never must there fall;
Or on my breast or on my tomb
The tear that would have soothed it all. |
| Walter Savage Landor |
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