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Late Leaves

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Written by Walter Savage Landor

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 THE leaves are falling; so am I; 
The few late flowers have moisture in the eye; 
 So have I too.
Scarcely on any bough is heard Joyous, or even unjoyous, bird The whole wood through.
Winter may come: he brings but nigher His circle (yearly narrowing) to the fire Where old friends meet.
Let him; now heaven is overcast, And spring and summer both are past, And all things sweet.


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