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John Clare


All nature has a feeling: woods, fields, brooks

Are life eternal; and in silence they

Speak happiness beyond the reach of books;

There's nothing mortal in them;  their decay

Is the green life of change;  to pass away

And come again in blooms revivified.

Its birth was heaven, eternal is its stay,

And with the sun and moon shall still abide

Beneath their day and night and heaven wide.


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