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A boat, beneath a sunny sky,
Lingering onward dreamily
In an evening of July —
Children three that nestle near,
Eager eye and willing ear,
Not a simple tale to hear —
Ever long had paled that sunny sky:
Veiled echoes fade and memories die.
Early frosts have slain July.
Returned she haunts me, phantomwise,
Listlessly moving under skies
Ever seen by waking eyes.
Fewer dreaming as the days go by,
Then dreaming as the summers die:
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