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In masks outrageous and austere The years go by in single file; But none has merited my fear, And none has quite escaped my smile. - Let No Charitable Hope [Aging] I shall lie hidden in a hut In the middle of an alder wood, With the back door blind and bolted shut, And the front door locked for good. I shall lie folded like a saint, Lapped in a scented linen sheet, On a bedspread striped with bright-blue paint, Narrow and cold and neat. The midnight will be glassy black Behind the panes, with wind about To set his mouth against a crack And blow the candle out. - Prophecy [Death] The winter will be short, the summer long, The autumn amber-hued, sunny and hot, Tasting of cider and of scuppernong; All seasons sweet, but autumn best of all. The squirrels in their silver fur will fall Like falling leaves, like fruit, before your shot. - Wild Peaches [Seasons]
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