One September morn ponder'd I.
The wnd's sweet song. forth and nigh,
Through the elms, a whispered sigh
Settling in this breezy September sky.
A sparrow, watched I, in yonder tree
Heard the whispering song with me,
Fastened his ear to the melody
That seemed to wander so aimlessly.
Nought before the wind had ceased and gone,
The sparrow picked at its lovely song,
And whistled the memory of the wind agone.
Which now shall haunt me my whole life long.
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