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  We took you for rest to that old Yankee farm,—so lonely and with so many field mice in the long grass— and you return to us in this condition—!

Oh, black Persian cat. 

SUMMER SONG

Wanderer moon smiling a faintly ironical smile at this brilliant, dew-moistened summer morning,— a detached sleepily indifferent smile, a wanderer's smile,— if I should buy a shirt your color and put on a necktie sky blue where would they carry me? 