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Winter Words, Op. 52: 1. At Day-close in November
par
Thomas Hardy
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The ten hours’ light is abating And a late bird wings across Where the pines, like waltzers waiting, waiting Give their black heads a toss Beech leaves, that yellow the noontime Float past like specks, like specks in the eye; I set every tree in my June time And now they obscure the sky And the children who ramble through here Conceive that there never has been A time when no trees, no tall trees grew here That none will in time be seen
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