richard mitchley - at day close in november by thomas hardy lyrics
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the ten hours’ light is abating
and a late bird flies across
where the pines, like waltzers waiting
give their black heads a toss
beech leaves, that yellow the noon+time
float past like specks in the eye;
i set every tree in my june time
and now they obscure the sky
and the children who ramble through here
conceive that there never has been
a time when no tall trees grew here
a time when none will be seen
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