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Poem	Friends, my heart is half aweary Of its happiness to-night: Though your songs are gay and cheery, And your spirits feather-light, There's a ghostly music haunting Still the heart of every guest And a voiceless chorus chanting That the Old Times were the best. CHORUS All about is bright and pleasant With the sound of song and jest, Yet a feeling's ever present That the Old Times were the best.
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