After the fierce midsummer all ablazeHas burned itself to ashes, and expiresIn the intensity of its own fires, There come the mellow, mild, St. Martin daysCrowned with the calm of peace, but sad with haze.So after Love has led us, till he tiresOf his own throes, and torments, and desires, Comes large-eyed Friendship: with a restful gaze.He beckons us to follow, and acrossCool verdant vales we
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