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Living Poems
by
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Come to me, O ye children! For I hear you at your play And the questions that perplexed me Have vanished quite away Ye open the eastern windows That look towards the sun Where thoughts are singing swallows And the brooks of morning run In your hearts are the birds and the sunshine In your thoughts the brooklet`s flow But in mine is the wind of Autumn And the first fall of the snow Ah! what would the world be to us If the children were no more? We should dread the desert behind us Worse than the dark before What the leaves are to the forest With light and air for food Ere their sweet and tender juices Have been hardened into wood, - That to the world are children; Through them it feels the glow Of a brighter and sunnier climate Than reaches the trunks below
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