As I was walking down the street
A week ago,
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Ever to be the best. To lead
In whatsoever things are true;
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Would you like to see a city given over,
Soul and body, to a tyrannising game?
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Blue, blue is the sea to-day,
Warmly the light
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It seems a hundred years or more
Since I, with note-book, ink and pen,
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[After Longfellow.]
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He brought a team from Inversnaid
To play our Third Fifteen,
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I met him down upon the pier,
His eyes were wild and sad,
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Whene'er I try to read a book,
Across the page your face will look,
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[After Wordsworth.]
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For thee the birds shall never sing again,
Nor fresh green leaves come out upon the tree,
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These verses have I pilfered like a bee
Out of a letter from my C. C. C.
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The voice that sings across the night
Of long forgotten days and things,
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I shall be spun. There is a voice within
Which tells me plainly I am all undone;
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After Longfellow
Loud he sang the song Ta Phershon
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So in the village inn the poet dwelt.
His honey-dew was gone; only the pouch,
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Love, we have heard together
The North Sea sing his tune,
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The city once again doth wear
Her wonted dress of winter's bride,
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There was a time when it was counted high
To be a patriot--whether by the zeal
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Sleep flies me like a lover
Too eagerly pursued,
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Come back to St. Andrews! Before you went away
You said you would be wretched where you could not see the Bay,
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I have been lonely all my days on earth,
Living a life within my secret soul,
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Familiar with thy melody,
We go debating of its power,
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Gone is the glory from the hills,
The autumn sunshine from the mere,
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Not the proudest damsel here
Looks so well as doth my dear.
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Another day let slip! Its hours have run,
Its golden hours, with prodigal excess,
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Fain would I shake thee off, but weak am I
Thy strong solicitations to withstand.
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I hear a twittering of birds,
And now they burst in song.
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As I, with hopeless love o'erthrown,
With love o'erthrown, with love o'erthrown,
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One dark, dark night--it was long ago,
The air was heavy and still and warm -
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