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Days of witchery, subtly sweet,
When every hill and tree finds heart,
When winter and spring like lovers meet
In the mist of noon and part----
In the April days.
Nights when the mood frogs faintly peep
Once---twice--- and then are still,
And the woodprckers' martial voices sweep
Like bugle notes from hill to hill---
Through the pulseless haze.
Days when the oil is warm with rain,
And through the wood the shy wind steals,
Rich with the pine and the poplar smell,
Through the April days!
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