Dark days they are, and nights are darker still,

and barren branches claw the feeble sun,

when autumn breathes its last in winter’s chill.

No more we’ll hear the cheerful songbird’s trill

now they have flown, these wintry shores to shun;

Dark days they are, and nights are darker still.

No more soft sundown’s balmy breezes filled

with clouds of gnats whose season now ...

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