| Moonlight in winter, and I draw |
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| If earth but ceas'd to offer my sight |
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| Oh! how its young ones must be waiting |
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| When falls the snow, lo! ev'ry herb and tree |
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| Oh! snowstorm, at whose blast the birds |
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| The Beggar's Complaint |
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| Now hid from sight are great Mount Fusi's fires |
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| A Show'r, and skill of every sort |
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| No Tidings |
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| I ask'd my soul where springs th' ill-omened seed |
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