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 I cannot tell you how it was,
But this I know: it came to pass
Upon a bright and sunny day
When May was young; ah, pleasant May!
As yet the poppies were not born
Between the blades of tender corn;
The last egg had not hatched as yet,
Nor any bird foregone its mate.
I cannot tell you what it was, But this I know: it did but pass.
It passed away with sunny May, Like all sweet things it passed away, And left me old, and cold, and gray.

by Christina Rossetti
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