80: Farewell the Winter


Can such things be, and apprehend like a Winter Sun?

From its highest seat entirety is touched. Woe into dew thaws, the intellect has no answer at last. An eye cannot bear to blink. No face is unfelt of its warmth, no heart left uncheered beneath, nor does any farewell quite endear, as when it still glistening recedes behind tomorrow. The coming Spring is quite forgot.


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