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Bent their small heads in every breeze which strayed 
From lawnv sunshine to the woodland’s shade. 
•/ 
And there they bud, and bloom, and close, and die. 
In solitude. 
Their lives are brief, but calm.—Alas! that I, 
N ot grief-subdued. 
But innocently gay, as these small flowers. 
In like retreat might pass my future hours! 
R 2 
