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His bill an auger is,
His head, a cap and frill.
He laboreth at every tree, --
A worm his utmost goal.
Sweet is the swamp with its secrets,
Until we meet a snake;
'T is then we sigh for houses,
And our departure take
At that enthralling gallop
That only childhood knows.
A snake is summer's treason,
And guile is where it goes.

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