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Heed not the night; a summer lodge amid the wild is mine-- 'Tis shadowed by the tulip-tree, 'tis mantled by the vine. - William Cullen Bryant, A Strange Lady (st. 6) The tulip-tree, high up, Opened, in airs of June, her multitude Of golden chalices to humming birds And silken-winged insects of the sky. - William Cullen Bryant, The Fountain (st. 3)
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