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The Vagabond

REVERIE

A dull buzzing stirred the sleepy Vagabond;

His reactions were mechanical: he slapped

The clock and struggled out of bed, reached for

The window. . . . There he stopped; there was no blast

Of cold. . . . He raised the blankets on his mind

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And classed a shadow promise of a thought;

"Then it is realty spring!" . . . A strange sound--birds.

And a different smelling air. He braced his elbows

On the window sill and looked about: the snow,

Deserting, left the grass a yellow green;

The Charles had almost healed itself of all

That winter tissue which was dull and dead,

And all the birds he hadn't seen before

Were singing in counterpoint their undeveloped

Themes which paralleled the lack of order

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