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The Poetical Works of George MacDonald

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Up comes the primrose, wondering;

The snowdrop droopeth by;

The holy spirit of the spring

Is working silently.

Soft-breathing breezes woo and wile

The later children out;

O'er woods and farms a sunny smile

Is flickering about.

The earth was cold, hard-hearted, dull;

To death almost she slept:

Over her, heaven grew beautiful,

And forth her beauty crept.

Showers yet must fall, and waters grow

Dark-wan with furrowing blast;

But suns will shine, and soft winds blow,

Till the year flowers at last.

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