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"WHEN SUMMER GOES."

A RONDEAU.

NO WRITER ATTRIBUTED

When summer goes, and autumn chill

Has tinged with gold each dusky hill,

The earth bows' heath golden sway;

The birds go winging on their way

And every vale with music fill.

But in our hearts sweet memories thrill

Into warm life, undreamed of, till

They blossomed soft-how much they say When summer goes.

Ho! autumn sound your trumpets shrill,

Forth lead your blustering hosts to kill

The summer's beauty; but, away,

From harm our summer fancies stay,

Bright tipped with gold like leaf and hill When summer goes.

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