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 I water them and turn them south, Í snap the dead brown from the stem; But it is winter with your love,— I only tend and water them, There was a time I stood and watched The small, ill-natured sparrows' fray; I loved the beggar that I fed, I eared for what he had to say, I stood and watched him out of sight; Today I reach around the door And set a bowl upon the step; My heart is what it was before, But it is winter with your love; I scatter crumbs upon the sill, And close the window,—and the birds May take or leave them, as they will.