In November
Brown earth-line meets gray heaven,
And all the land looks sad;
But Love's the little leaven
That works the whole world glad.
Sigh, bitter wind; lower, frore clouds of gray:
My Love and I are living now in May!
And all the land looks sad;
But Love's the little leaven
That works the whole world glad.
Sigh, bitter wind; lower, frore clouds of gray:
My Love and I are living now in May!
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