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SONNET.

I LEANED far out my window this May-morn To catch the scene so beautiful. Bright flowers Loaded the air with fragrance from rose-bowers, Freshening my heart by cruel fate uptorn. Nestling in new-clothed maples, the robin, born

Of the Spring, pours forth mellifluous showers Of gladdening song; sweet violets adorn

The lawn's fair slope, whereon at earliest hours Is heard the voice of children at their play;

In blissful sport their hands the flowers entwine In wreaths to crown the loveliest "Queen of May,"

With hearts brimful of joy! Alas! how sad is mine! Mid winter's storms the voice of hope is hushed; There is no May for hearts by anguish crushed.

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A. L. H.

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