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Rust-red the bracken in the rain
Against the wet grey boulder —
Slowly the cold mist sweeps again
Over the mountain-shoulder,
And the wind blows colder.
Since last I saw the mist and rain
Sweep down the mountain-shoulder,
Some joy that will not come again
Has left a heart grown older,
And the wind blows colder.
Against the wet grey boulder —
Slowly the cold mist sweeps again
Over the mountain-shoulder,
And the wind blows colder.
Since last I saw the mist and rain
Sweep down the mountain-shoulder,
Some joy that will not come again
Has left a heart grown older,
And the wind blows colder.
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