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 let us tell the weeds in ditches How we are poor, who once had riches, And lie out in the sparse and sodden Pastures that the cows have trodden, The while an autumn night seals down The comforts of the wooden town.

Come, let us counsel some cold stranger How we sought safety, but loved danger. So, with stiff walls about us, we Chose this more fragile boundary: Hills, where light poplars, the firm oak, Loosen into a little smoke. [ 24 ]