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THE sun rushes in at my lattice, And kisses the white walls gold; Into my heart he rushes, And kisses away the cold.

The trees are ringing with rapture; The rivulet, blithe as they, With bubbles of song is splashing The little laughing Day.

And there’s clean, clean breath for every one, There’s the breath of life for me! For the city is turn’d to country, And the prose to poesy!