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of the window a sea of green trees Lift their soft boughs like the arms of a dancer, They beckon and call me, "Come out in the sun!" But I cannot answer.

I am alone with Weakness and Pain, Sick abed and June is going, I cannot keep her, she hurries by With the silver-green of her garments blowing.

Men and women pass in the street Glad of the shining sapphire weather, But we know more of it than they, Pain and I together.