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VOL XXXIX 



:\IAY 1."), 1911 



NO. 10 



3C^ T-T^Ci/ V -en ; 



®h^ Sam ^nng 



It isn't raining rain to me, 



It's raining daffodils; 

 In every dimpled drop I see 



Wild flowers on the hills. 

 The clouds of gray engulf the day. 



And overwhelm the town; 

 It isn't raining rain to me, 



It's raining roses down. 



It isn't raining rain to me, 

 But fields of clover bloom. 



Where every bucaneering bee 

 May find a bed and room; 



A health unto the happy ! 

 A fig for him who frets! 



It isn't raining rain to me. 



It's raining violets. -Robert Lo--veman 

 Courtesy of The Farm and Fireside 



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