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Show SmoKe From the WeeKly Tipe. POESY AND WINTER. In Arcadia I wandered when my soul was lulled in dreams And I felt the somber sadness of the waning, wasted years; And the plashing of the fountains where I saw the nymphs at play Filled the shades of all Arcadia with the mistiness of tears. Now the winter, wan and whitened, comes on Autumn's reddened wheels, And the phantoms of the Northland sway again in pallid strife; And a requiem wails sadly on the sepulchre of Spring , , f And for me there is fib rapture on the bitter , hanks of life. " ,. For now comes the premonition 'With the thrust of winter spears As the snowy host, in legions, through the azure blithely floats, That no fancy, rare, poetical, the wintry blasts can swerve Or donate to me the lucre for some winter overcoats. |