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The leaves are falling, falling,
By autumn's breath embrowned;
The restless winds are calling
With ever saddening sound;
And all the long-dead embers
Of all my past Novembers
Seem heaped in burial mound.


But Memory joys in bringing
Her loveliest blossoms there,
With birds whose heartsome singing
Dispels each dark despair;
And then those embers' fires
Reflame with June's desires,
Till Life grows newly fair.