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Till summer folds her miracle
As women do their gown,
Or priests adjust the symbols
When sacrament is done.
She slept beneath a tree
Remembered but by me.
I touched her cradle mute;
She recognized the foot,
Put on her carmine suit, --
And see!
A light exists in spring
Not present on the year
At any other period.
When March is scarcely here

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