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Rich gift of God! A year of time!
     What pomp of rise and shut of day,
What hues wherewith our Northern clime
     Makes autumn's dropping woodlands gay,
What airs outblown from ferny dells,
     And clover-bloom and sweetbrier smells,
What songs of brooks and birds, what fruits and flowers,
     Green woods .and moonlit snows, have in its round been ours!

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