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 What clean, clear air!....Doesn’t it seem to shine Right through you! doesn’t it make you light and bright— Fit for a frolic, wild to rush and leap Over things! Oh, I am all on tiptoe, to.... To....Well, I don’t know what; but something quick! Something adventurous, spirited, energetic, Live!.... Splendid!—Splendid! Blow again, strong breeze! Warmth now....with such a breath of basking pine! And hark! the old cabbage-tree—“Rush, rustle, splash!” You poor old ancient tree! that Andrew thinks Dying—But how triumphant, then, you die! Brandishing blades, and crown’d with stars that glitter Bravely as ever to the beams and breeze. —That flax is going to flower this year.— See there! A daisy! Little dear! I won’t tell Andrew, But don’t spread, will you, Bright-face?— There’s the sun, Down in the creek; he’s bigger than the world, And yet our creek can hold him—that’s a puzzle. ....The water shines and slips and shines along.... There sails a feather! past the musk, between The astonish’d cape-weed and the whispering poplars,