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out with all the world to-day, So all the world to me is gray, Ah me! the bonny world. Glad birds are building in the tree. For them I have no sympathy; From out the grove a thrush pipes clear, I have no wish his song to hear; From tangled boughs that young buds share With last year's leaves, a startled hare A moment peeps and then away; I have no laughter for his play, For all the sunny sky is gray. The weariest I am to-day In all the weary world.

Perchance to-morrow's hidden store May bring my heart's content once more, The sweet young spring comes very fair With summer's breath and golden air;