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Purple, violet, gold and white, Royal clouds are they; Catching the spear-like rays in the west-- Lining therewith each downy nest, At the close of Summer day. Forming and breaking in the sky, I fancy all shapes are there; Temple, mountain, monument, spire; Ships rigged out with sails of fire, And blown by the evening air. - [Sunset] Forming and breaking in the sky, I fancy all shapes are there; Temple, mountain, monument, spire; Ships rigged out with sails of fire, And blown by the evening air. - A Summer Sunset [Sunset] Shout now! The months with loud acclaim, Take up the cry and send it forth; May breathing sweet her Spring perfumes, November thundering from the North. With hands upraised, as with one voice, They join their notes in grand accord; Hail to December! say they all, It gave to Earth our Christ the Lord! - The Meeting of the Months [December] Yes, sing the song of the orange-tree, With its leaves of velvet green: With its luscious fruit of sunset hue, The fairest that ever were seen; The grape may have its bacchanal verse, To praise the fig we are free; But homage I pay to the queen of all, The glorious orange-tree. - The Orange-Tree [Oranges]
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