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Fishmonger, The—oh, call him back!
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How many may be hurrying through
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Oh! flower-gazers, who have decked
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Can I be dreaming? 'Twas but yesterday
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A Thousand thoughts of tender vague regret
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A Snowy morning,—everywhere
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Without a word of warning, there
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Leaf whirls down, slackaday, A!
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Alas! the noon convolvulus
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Ah! yes, my passage through the world
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